Sharing the Same Sky, We Are as Close as Lovers
by Gabi-hime
Summary: TMGS1L Himuro Reiichi x Heroine.  Himuro Reiichi and Yumeno Midori spend a star-crossed evening together.
1. He's already waiting

**Sharing the Same Sky, We Are as Close as Lovers**

_Tokimeki Memorial Girl's Side First Love_

_Himuro Reiichi x Heroine_

_**By Gabihime at gmail dot com**_

_Part One: He's already waiting__**.**_

* * *

_****_  
The summer sky was bright with the uncountable stars of a distant heaven, the air was heady with the ticklish smell of food frying and the sounds of people talking and laughing, and paper lanterns hung like persistent magic from stall eaves, but Yumeno Midori had no eyes for the resplendent heavens, no ears for the pleasant, incomprehensible drone of layered human communication, and no heart for sidewalk miracles.

She had done a terrible thing.

She had not intended to do this terrible thing, and she was not even sure how the thing itself had occurred, but suddenly she found herself with the consequences of the action, and no idea of when she had actually done the terrible thing she had done.

But the thing was still done, and she had most certainly done it.

When you were guilty, and you knew that you were guilty, there was no way to plead your innocence, because you weren't innocent. Even if you weren't sure when you'd committed your crime, that wasn't any excuse. Particularly if your crime was negligence.

She had been _criminally negligent_.

"They ought to put me in prison for a hundred thousand years," she wailed aloud, but not so very aloud, as she did when she was in the habit of talking to herself. She shook her head, suddenly disagreeing with herself. "No, they ought to put me _under _the prison for a hundred thousand years."

She was dashing up and down the shopping arcade, weaving in and out of the crowd, her arms hugging her chest, and trying very hard not to burst into tears. She was trying very hard not to burst into tears not only because she was a girl all of seventeen years old, and really too old to go bursting into tears any old time she went and did a _terrible thing_, but also because she was hunting up and down through the festival stalls, and she knew that if she started to cry she would have a very hard time seeing anything.

So she fought her tears as valiantly as she could, biting her lip hard to try to keep from crying, and resolving even as she did that she wouldn't stop hunting even if she did cry, even if everyone saw her, crying like the silliest, smallest little girl. This thought made her sniffle alarmingly, and she brushed her sleeve across her eyes to try and clear them even as they stung with salt and tears.

But, although she had shut her eyes tightly to rub the tears out of her eyes, she had not stopped running, which, given her circumstances - dashing about a crowded shopping arcade at festival time - was probably not the wisest exercise of pure stubbornness, even considering how upset she was.

Not surprisingly, she collided with something.

In a crowded shopping arcade at festival time there were many things she might have collided with: a small child, a hot grill, a tub of goldfish, one of the poles holding up the strings of colored lights - it was undoubtedly a sign of good fortune and divine providence that she did not run into any of these things.

Perhaps it was less fortunate that what she actually ran into was potentially even more dangerous than a hot grill, a tub of goldfish, or a tall wooden pole with electrical lights strung on it. Possibly combined.

Naturally, having barreled into it with one arm struggling to rub the gritty tears from her eyes, Midori had no idea at all what she had run into, only that it had not hurt too terribly much, and that she had not, as a consequence of having run into it, landed square on her bottom on the street.

"Yumeno," came a startlingly familiar voice, crisp, like snapped fingers, immediate, like someone calling roll.

"_Present_," she responded without thinking, and this strange circumstance, the sudden vision of herself, a convicted, _criminally negligent felon_, sobbing in the middle of class while the students and teacher looked on with disapproving, disappointed frowns, made her lose the tenuous grip she had on her composure and she began to cry in earnest.

"Yumeno, why are you crying?" demanded the stern teacher, standing above her, ready to mete out the punishment she clearly deserved. She shook her head furiously, ashamed of her faults, rubbing her eyes with her sleeve, unwilling and then at last unable to keep from confessing.

"I've lost my grandpapa. I really and truly lost my grandpapa," she sobbed, burying her face in her hands as all the students in the class pointed at her and chorused, _'She lost her grandpapa! Let's go throw her into a bottomless pit!'_

Only, this did not actually happen, as Midori expected it would.

Instead, the stern, crisp voice said, "_What_?" the way one says _"What?"_ when one is completely and utterly baffled. It is the sound one makes when one has just seen a dancing giraffe wearing a dress.

It was at this moment that Midori realized that she was not actually in class 2-C of Habataki Gakuen, withering under the baleful stares of her classmates. She remembered with a start that she was at the Tanabata festival in the downtown shopping arcade and she realized that there were steady, long-fingered hands firmly gripping her shoulders.

She rushed to wipe her eyes with her fists so she could see who it was that was holding her up, who it was that she had thrown herself so unfortunately into.

When her eyes were at last clear enough for her to make out her captor she cried out in alarm mixed with delight.

"Himurochi!" she said, and it was as if a radiant angel in a grey, nondescript suit had descended from heaven expressly to brighten her localized despair. There was not a person in the world she both adored, and dreaded, more.

He was staring at her, expressionless, nonplussed. She stared back at him for a moment, from where he held her by her shoulders, balanced on her tip toes, and then she laughed nervously, a small touch of hysteria.

"Sensei," is what she said then, and then, as if it might have been a mantra to give herself courage, or some sort of self-punishment that ought to be repeated a hundred times, she continued, "Sensei, sensei, sensei - "

"_Yumeno_," he said again, deliberately, and she silenced herself immediately in response. Satisfied that he had her attention at last, he began slowly. "Yumeno, tell me again why you were crying."

At this she sniffled again, and might have begun crying had she not been under the watchful eyes of Himuro Reiichi. As it was, she manfully fought back her woes and worries and confessed to him as if he might have been her priest.

"Sensei, I lost my grandpapa," she said. "I was supposed to stay with him the whole time we were at the festival, but I've lost him and I don't know where he is and if something happens to him I don't know what I'll do and it's all my fault for being such a bad granddaughter - " as she continued to pour out her troubles, her voice had begun to tremble and she seemed to be about to break down into tears again, despite the fact that she was under the eye of her beloved homeroom teacher.

"_Yumeno_," Himuro repeated again crisply, a call to focus her attention and hopefully distract her from crying. It worked, and he was inwardly relieved. "Calm yourself. I am sure your grandfather is someplace nearby and perfectly safe."

Although comforted, Midori was not entirely convinced. "But Sensei, he has a very hard time getting around, and he has a hard time breathing, and has to take medicine if he has an attack, and he almost never even gets to go out of the house, but I promised to bring him to Tanabata, and he's so been looking forward to it, and I don't know how it happened, but he sat down on a bench and I went to get him something to drink and then when I came back he was gone and I've lost him and can't find him and I shouldn't have left him, even for a minute. I feel really horrible right now, and I'm so worried. I've looked and looked and I can't find him anywhere - "

Her hysteria had abated, and the tears were gone now, because she found Himuro very comforting, in his way. Now she only felt worried and uncertain as opposed to guilty before the inquisition.

Satisfied that his student was no longer coming apart at the seams, Himuro released his grip on her shoulders and let her settle again onto her feet. Then, as if unsure what to do to comfort her, he patted her on the head awkwardly.

"It's all right, Yumeno. He's certainly somewhere nearby," he said levelly. "I'll help you find him."

"Will you?" she asked hopefully, as a new star was born in her heart, "Will you really, sensei?"

If Himuro-sensei helped her then she had a great faith that they would find her grandpapa well and safe. This is because she had supreme confidence in Himuro's abilities to accomplish whatever it was that he set out to accomplish. It was not as if she viewed him as completely super-human, but she did think that if he said something was so, then it would be so. He had commanded it, and the world would comply, because no one with any sense at all disobeyed Himuro-sensei if they knew what was good for them.

"Of course," he said, as if this answer was obvious. "You're my student. You're my responsibility. I'll help you. It's my duty as your teacher." Having dispensed with this formality, he looked around himself, as if getting his bearings, then looked down again at her. "We should go to the place where you last saw him, and begin looking there." He said, and she felt this was very sensible.

She sighed, as if a great load had been lifted off her shoulders and then looked up at him smiling. "Thank you, sensei, really."

He looked at her for what felt to her like an impossibly long, still moment, but then he suddenly looked away and cleared his throat.

"Come along, Yumeno," he said, and moved purposefully up the arcade, but he was stopped by a small but insistent tug on his suit jacket.

She had caught him by the tail of his coat, and she stood, unmoving, while he stared at her again.

"Sensei," she said after a moment, "It's back the other way."

He straightened, and then turned. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking," he apologized seriously. "Where did you last see him?"

"I left him on a bench right to the left of the Delicious Taiyaki stall," she answered with equal gravity.

"Delicious Taiyaki," he confirmed, and she nodded. "All right. That's where we'll go first."

This time he moved purposefully in the correct direction, and she made to follow him, but he paused suddenly to look at her over his shoulder, expressionlessly. He offered her his hand without saying a word, and she understood his intentions, because the arcade was crowded, noisy, and chaotic with summer enjoyment.

She took it and she felt her small hand enfolded by his larger one. He held onto her firmly, as if he might have been leading a preschooler across the street. This was a strangely pleasing image to her and she smiled again.

"After all," she said cheerfully, "I don't want to lose you too!"

He did not respond to this, only led her purposefully through the crowd. For Midori, it was both worrying and blissful, being led along to her destination. She found it was very nice to hold his hand, which was just as she had expected it: firm, strong, _deliberate_. But it was also worrying _because _she enjoyed it. She did not think Himuro-sensei stayed up nights thinking about holding her hand, and this was disappointing. Although if he did stay up nights thinking about it, then _that _would be worrying. And blissful.

She felt very mixed up, and then remembered that they were looking for her grandfather, whom she had negligently abandoned. Then she felt even more guilty for wishing insomnia on Himuro-sensei while she ought to have been honestly worrying about her grandfather.

Himuro stopped at last and Midori found herself before the bench directly to the left of Delicious Taiyaki: the site of her grandfather's mysterious disappearance. Again, she examined the scene for any clues that might offer a lead in her investigation, but she found nothing save the bottle of water she had dropped in her panic when she realized her grandfather was no longer waiting for her. There was no new material evidence on the bench at all, but this time, there was a witness.

There was a very small boy sitting on the bench, eating a piece of taiyaki from the tail first. Although she had not noticed him the first time she had searched the area for her grandfather, it would do no harm to ask him.

Before she could open her mouth, Himuro spoke, as grim and terrifying as a reaper.

"Did you see an older gentleman sitting here earlier?" he demanded.

What went unstated was _depending on your answer, there will be consequences._

The little boy drew his legs onto the bench and sidled away from Himuro, as if her sensei might have been long-haired and newly emerged from a well.

"Sensei," Midori chided, and tugged on Himuro's arm in hopes of softening his expression a little before her only witness died of stark terror. "You can't be that way around people who aren't used to you, certainly not around little children. He doesn't know how kind you are, so of course he's frightened."

Midori was already bending down to reassure the little boy, so she did not notice the inadvertent stare that Himuro directed at her again. She wouldn't have known what to make of it anyway. She was thoroughly convinced that her sensei was a very kind person, because she felt he had always been very kind to her. She would have been therefore confused to find out 'kind' was not a word he would have used to describe himself, any more than he would have used the words 'jolly,' or 'loquacious.' 'Fair,' perhaps, but not 'kind.' But she knew that he was more than fair to her, and so she believed he was particularly kind to everyone, because she was the sort of person who believes so well of people that other people think they are silly. Himuro, although he did not think of himself as being particularly kind, was pleased that _she _thought he was.

Although he was initially nervous of the looming specter that was Himuro, Midori was in such good spirits that she managed to cajole the little boy into telling her that he was the grandson of the Miboshi family, who ran the ceramics shop in the arcade, and that her grandpa had gone there to drink tea and gossip with the other grandpas. The boy, it had seemed, had been left to tell her where he had gone.

"But you weren't here when I came back before," she said, and felt sheepish. "I'm sure you weren't."

The little boy had nothing to say to this, only kept munching at his taiyaki.

Midori was trying to think of how to apologize to Himuro for wasting his time, when she felt him looming directly over her shoulder. The little boy shrank back again.

"_You like taiyaki_," Himuro said slowly, and each word had weight. Midori did not know if Himuro was asking a question of the boy, or telling him a fatal truth: _You like taiyaki._ The words were such that it ought to be a question, but coming from Himuro, it did not sound like one.

"Sensei," she wheedled, "I told you. You can't make that face when you make conversation with little children. Try to smile at least a little, so he knows you're friendly."

At this, Himuro smiled, just a little. It was a small smile, at the corner of his mouth, the vague, ghost of a smile, with narrowed eyes. It was a terrible smile, backed by _intent_.

Midori's heart fluttered, but then she glanced down at the little boy, who looked as if he were about to cry, and she waved her hands at Himuro ineffectually.

"No, sensei, _stop smiling_," she cried out in distress, "I think you're making it _worse_."

Himuro did stop smiling, although she had doubts that it was due to her request. He did not stop looming, however, and he put another 'question' to the little boy.

"_The taiyaki is delicious,_" he said, and Midori no longer wondered if it was a question or not, because she knew that the little boy was not about to answer, and Himuro apparently was not concerned with what he might say, because he had already arrived at the solution. "So instead of waiting, like you were told, _you stood in line and bought some._"

"Oh!" brightened Midori immediately, "Oh, now I see. That's why I didn't see him when I came by here before."

"You made this girl very unhappy," Himuro was still speaking steadily to the little boy, who was transfixed, as a mouse is before a snake. "A_re you prepared to take responsibility for your actions?_"

At this, the little boy squeaked, and abandoning his incriminating taiyaki, leapt off the bench and ran terrified into the crowd. Midori looked down at the taiyaki forlornly cast onto the street and she heaved a small sigh.

"Well, thank you for helping me figure out what happened, but don't you think you were, um, a little harsh on the boy, sensei?" She asked, leaning down to pick up the sealed bottle of water that she had dumped on the bench earlier. It was still perfectly fine, having only been abandoned on the street for a period of less than twenty minutes. It wasn't like her pockets were overflowing with riches, after all. A girl had to be at least a little practical.

"No one is too young to be accountable for their own actions," he said flatly.

Midori was again not entirely convinced. "But he ran away crying," she protested as she turned to face him.

"I didn't chase him," Himuro said simply.

"I suppose you didn't," she admitted, and they stood looking at one another again. After a moment, she smiled, utterly unable to remain even mildly perturbed at him. "Thank you again though, sensei. Because of you, I know where I have to go to find my Grandpapa. I'm very sorry I took up so much of your time, although I'm grateful you were willing to help me."

At this, Himuro, looked away down the street and at the same time, silently offered his hand again. She took it and squeezed it, and while she was giving it a friendly squeeze, he spoke almost unwillingly.

"It's my responsibility to look after you because you're my student. I told you I would help you find your grandfather, so I will help you find him."

With that, he began walking again, and she followed along obediently, holding onto his hand.

But Midori couldn't resist teasing him a little, now that her crisis was seemingly averted. "Himurochi is very dependable," she announced, sing-song.

"_Yumeno_," he started crisply, but then stopped, as if he was unsure what to say next.

"You can't give me detention, Himurochi, because we aren't at school," she teased.

He stopped abruptly and she stumbled into his back. When she sorted herself out, hanging onto his arm, she realized that he was looking down at her. He was perfectly still, and his face was unreadable.

"I haven't given you detention for it yet, although you say it often enough. You are a serious student and musician, so I allow it."

"You really don't mind when people call you Himurochi?" Midori asked, as if the world was filled with countless dawning wonders.

"_Wrong_," he said immediately, as if he had been watching her work a complicated derivative on the blackboard and found her arithmetic lacking. She jumped a little at his sharpness, and again, he looked away.

"I don't mind it when _you _say it," was all he said, and then without warning he began walking in the direction of the ceramics shop.

* * *

So this is my attempt to write down a dream I had last night, and I apologize if it is unfunny, or terrible, or not charming in any way whatsoever, but I liked the dream well enough when I had it, so I wanted to put it down and share it on the off chance that someone else will like it.

My Himuro-suki heroine is Yumeno Midori, who is a musical genius, a thoughtful student, idealistic, optimistic, sentimental, accident prone, and who generally seems to spend most of her time thinking about how wonderful Himuro-sensei is no matter what he does, even when he is doing things like terrifying small children (or giving her detention).

There is actually a second chapter to this which I intend to write in a day or so, which details what happens to the two of them after they actually find Grandpapa again. Will they actually have a romantic evening that lives up to the title, or will Tsukushi arrive to reveal to Himuro that Midori wears kitten panties?

(probably the former, no matter how hilarious and tragic the latter would be)

Love,

Gabi


	2. All that she's allowed

**Sharing the Same Sky, We are as Close as Lovers**

_Tokimemki Memorial Girl's Side First Love_  
_Himuro Reiichi x Heroine_

_**By Gabihime at gmail dot com**_

_Part Two: All That She's Allowed_

* * *

With the assurance that her beloved grandpapa was both well and safe, and her hand pleasantly detained in Himuro Reiichi's custody, Yumeno Midori found that the shopping arcade was no longer a place of ultimate despair, but that Tanabata - like most festivals celebrated everywhere by little children and old men - was actually quite nice. There were delicious smells wafting out alluringly from stalls that sold the sweet and the savory, and wish cards hung from every eave. As Himuro led her past a stall with small turtles swimming around in a pool of water, he was obliged to tug her along, as she had stopped to listen to the cajoling promises of the barker.

She followed meekly at his insistence, although the lure of small turtles was very great. He was, after all, taking time out of his evening at the festival for no other reason than that she had been in clear distress, and had needed help. As they walked, her hand warm and captured in his firm, sober grip, she realized that although he was moving with sure, even purpose, he was not walking as quickly as he might.

_He's taller than I am, so his stride is longer. He must be going slowly on purpose, so that I won't stumble when I try to keep up,_ she reasoned to herself. He was considerably taller than she as, it was true, she being one of the shortest sophomores at Habataki Gakuen, and commonly mistaken for a freshman, or a middle-schooler. _But maybe,_ she wished on the stars of the evening,_ maybe-maybe-maybe he's going slowly because he wants to keep walking with me a little longer._

This possibility, faint as it was, buoyed her spirits to fabulous heights, and she began to hum a measure of Mozart in allegro vivace. He glanced over his shoulder at her as he caught her humming, and she lit up the evening with a euphoric smile. She had a warm summer evening, filled with all the stars of heaven, the serious attendance of the best gentleman she could begin to imagine or invent for herself, and there was music in the air. Surely, the world had no greater riches to offer.

"_Sensei_," she called out as he looked back at her, her tone a dulcet extension of her humming, "Don't you think that wishing festivals must exist to remind us of how splendid and full our lives already are? Surely the wise man must realize that he needn't wish for anything."

How Himuro Reiichi might have responded to this question remained unspoken, because they had by this point drawn up in front of Miboshi Ceramics, and he chose instead to draw her attentions to their errand.

"Yumeno," he said, as if he gained some sort of personal magic by constantly repeating her name, "It's certain that your grandfather is inside."

And then he released her hand, which was admittedly a little disappointing, and did not do much to add credence to the dreamy air-castles she had been so recently spinning. But she had expected as much. They were now removed from the busy throng, and the necessity of his keeping her with him was at an end. She had not really expected that he would hold her hand forever after, even if it was a wish she might have written on a card and hung on an eave. And even if he had wanted to keep holding onto her - practically speaking, he had other things to do with his hands: like playing etudes on the piano or plotting beautiful derivative functions on the blackboard in an attempt to explain their workings to his students.

This is what she told herself, as her fingers brushed his palm, and then his hand was gone.

_After all, _she thought, _even heaven only lasts for an hour._

He opened the door for her, and they went into the ceramics shop together.

* * *

Miboshi Ceramics was an old-fashioned sort of ceramics shop. This was obvious from the moment she stepped over the threshold and found her nose greeted by the pleasant, musty smell of fresh clay. There was a pottery studio in the back, then, and the wares on the shelves - dishes and bowls of exquisite color and glaze - were fashioned by the experienced hands of the Miboshi potters. Each piece had been spun with attention and love: a portable, useful work of art meant to adorn a family's table for years.

Midori was instantly smitten with the place. It appealed to her sense of the beautiful and the sentimental, and she immediately resolved to buy all of her dishes from this place, should she ever have a cause to buy any dishes or a be mistress of a table on which to put them.

Himuro, although preoccupied by his own troubling thoughts of the future, could not have imagined that the girl who was still so alarmingly near him, and the source of all his life's unexpected complications, was blissfully considering the housewares they would require, should they require any housewares at all.

There was a low table near one of the front windows of the ceramics shop, and around it were clustered what the escaped, taiyaki-eating witness had correctly identified as 'a bunch of grandpas.' Midori's own grandfather was there, sitting with his legs neatly folded under himself and his cane across his lap, enjoying a cup of steaming tea.

"Grandpapa!" Midori could not help but exclaim enthusiastically, as she moved around the table to where he sat. "I was so worried about you I didn't know what to do. You shouldn't run off without saying anything! If you wanted to come to the ceramics shop, we could have come to the ceramics shop straight-away," she scolded, although her scoldings were rather more sweet that actually effective, as she kissed him on his cheek as punishment.

"Ah, Midori-chan," answered the old man, who had thick, white hair and bushy eyebrows, "You're the most precious treasure an old man could ever hope have." Here he exhibited her to the other grandpas, who appeared to be suitably impressed. "This is my Midori-chan," he explained to them proudly. "She's my guardian in my old age, just as I guarded her when she was small. Such a flower like this makes the twilight years sweet," he doted fondly, then continued on, apparently hypothetically. "Only I worry what will ever become of her once I pass on into the next world, she's so good and innocent."

"Grandpapa!" Midori protested immediately, "You're not going to die - "

Midori's grandfather apparently had a very strong knowledge of his granddaughter's character, and calculated the correct statement to capitalize on her sentimental nature, and bask in the attentions she immediately lavished on her beloved, prodigal, and now miraculously returned grandfather. He chuckled, "Not for a while yet, I hope, since Midori-chan takes such good care of me."

Himuro noted with no surprise whatsoever that the old man had effectively worked Midori to the point where she apparently no longer remembered that he had run off and left her in the middle of a busy festival, leaving no sure word behind him of where he had gone, despite the fact that she was his duly appointed guardian.

Having divested himself of this necessary duty, and still being adored by his favorite granddaughter, Grandfather Yumeno turned his attentions suddenly to the man who still stood by the door and raised a canny eyebrow. Midori followed his line of sight and her hands fluttered in mild embarrassment.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry," she apologized. "I've been very rude. This is my homeroom teacher, Himuro-sensei. We met while I was looking for you, grandpapa, and he was kind enough to offer to help me find you, even though I didn't know where to begin to look."

Himuro bowed briefly, as the old man's smile quirked ironically. "Ah, the great Himuro-sensei. I might have expected." He nodded to the gentlemen sitting around the low table with him. "This is Yamada-san, Miboshi-san, and Takahashi-sensei. And this," he nodded back to Himuro, who still stood near the door of the shop, "Is Himuro Reiichi-sensei, Midori-chan's," and here he chuckled quite mysteriously, "Homeroom teacher."

Himuro could not help but feel himself outside the understanding of some secret and implicitly understood family communication. Still, _rudeness _was not an element of his general personality.

"I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, gentlemen," he bowed briefly again to the old men at the table, then turned his attention to the grandpa of most immediate importance to him, "It is an honor to meet you, Yumeno-san. Your reputation as a musician precedes you."

Grandfather Yumeno grinned wryly, "It's been a long time since I rosined up a bow for myself, but you are kind to remember the small accomplishments of a foolish old man."

"Grandpapa!" Midori protested again, "You're not a foolish old man and all of your music is still as moving and full of feeling as the day you first wrote it."

Himuro watched Grandfather Yumeno preening in the glow of the praise his granddaughter slavishly lavished on him and could not help but give the old man a sidewise glance that he attempted to cover by pushing his glasses up his nose with two fingers.

_I understand how you operate,_ is what he communicated to the old man.

The old man only smiled back ironically, apparently enjoying some great secret joke. Himuro could not help but understand the response, telegraphed by expression and body language.

_I fully anticipate all your intentions._

Reading this in the old man's posture, Himuro immediately turned his back on the assembled gentlemen, as if he found something very interesting to focus his attentions on outside the windows of the shop.

"It is fortunate that you have been reunited with one another, and I hope you both have a pleasant evening - " he began his overly formal attempt at self-dismissal, but found himself unexpectedly interrupted by the old man, and turned around again to hear what he would say.

"Don't be silly, young man," he chided. "Do you think Midori-chan wants to spend her evening sitting around and listening a bunch of old men nattering? Of course she doesn't," here he cut off Midori's half-hearted protests with an imperious wave of his cane. "She wants to go out and enjoy herself. But of course I can't be expected to let a precious treasure like Midori-chan wander around such a dangerous place without someone to look after her, can I?"

The shopping district's summer festival did not seem like a particularly dangerous place to Himuro, but as it was not in his best interest to point this out, he did not.

"Grandpapa," Midori began again, out of a sense of loyalty to Himuro, and an attempt to protect the sanctity of his evening, "Himuro-sensei has already been very kind to take time out of his evening to help me, but you can't expect him spend all of his festival with me - "

"Is he expecting to spend it with someone else then?" her grandfather asked cannily, his bushy eyebrow raised.

Himuro noted the squeak of distress that Midori emitted at this suggestion with mild satisfaction and then responded before the old man could goad either of them further. The last thing he wanted was for the old man suggest she call someone else up to be her chaperon.

"It's fine," he said definitively, and so it was. _It was fine._ "I will escort Yumeno-san around the festival. She is already my responsibility."

"Naturally," agreed Old Man Yumeno pleasantly, "_You're her homeroom teacher._"

And then he chuckled again to himself.

* * *

And so Midori and Himuro found themselves standing before the door of Miboshi Ceramics again, this time with their backs to the front of that venerable establishment.

Midori was still a bit flushed as her mind had not yet completely processed the fabulous reality that she was really going to spend the rest of the evening with the reticent prince of her heart: Himuro Reiichi, mathematics teacher. What he thought of the arrangement, she really could not say for sure. Perhaps he really was just doing a favor to her respected grandfather, or fulfilling his duties as a homeroom teacher.

_But if that were so,_ she attempted to reason through it herself, _Wouldn't he have to go to the festival with absolutely everyone in class? Even the boys?_

She tried to imagine Himuro-sensei escorting Hazuki Kei around the festival and utterly failed.

So maybe, _maybe-maybe-maybe,_ he had said he would take her around the festival because he wanted to, even the smallest, little bit.

The night was filled with rose petals, stardust, and music as she looked up at Himuro and asked, "Sensei, what is it that you want to do?"

He looked down at her seriously for some moments, as if deciding how to answer, and at last he said, "I am escorting you around the festival. We should do what you want."

"Sensei!" the roses in her cheeks blossomed even further, if that were possible, and she immediately began, "Then I want to - "

"No turtles," he forbade.

Her first request so immediately vetoed, she caught his arm and tugged on it without thinking, as if this might sway his opinions on her right to attempt to win turtles thought whatever apparatus was in place at this festival to award them.

"_Himurochi_," she wheedled, "You said we could do what I wanted - "

"Then I spoke incorrectly," he answered her without the slightest indication of interest that she was tugging so insistently on his arm. "I should have said that we will do whatever it is you want, within reason."

"I think turtles are _very reasonable,_" she counseled, still holding onto the hope that persistence might win her this fight.

"You will find," he said deliberately, looking down at her with a firmly set mouth, "That there are many things which you think are very reasonable that I will not accept."

At this, Midori realized that she would not be able to influence his decision in a direct way and so began by a roundabout route.

"Well," she asked in a conciliatory manner, "Can we at least go _look _at the little turtles?"

"No," was his immediate response, and she found herself utterly stonewalled.

"Why not?" she asked, filled with a sense of injustice, because she could not see why he would object to her just _looking _at the little turtles.

"If I put you in the power of a barker at a turtle stand, then I know that no matter what I say, we will leave with a turtle," he answered shortly.

"Oh," was what she said then. "Oh well, yes. I expect you're right."

"I am most assuredly correct," he confirmed, and she sighed, although she did not let go of his arm.

"I suppose turtles are right out then. Even though I really wanted to look at them, so very, very much - "

"_Yumeno_," was all he said and her last resistance surrendered.

"Yes, sensei," she chorused obediently, although not entirely enthusiastically.

She was put out by being forbidden to own a small turtle for approximately fifty-four seconds. After this time had elapsed, she looked up at him again brightly.

"You know," she said conversationally, still hanging on his arm. "I haven't eaten anything since lunch time. Since you have been so good to me this evening, I'll treat you to whatever you want to eat."

"It is inappropriate for a student to buy dinner for her teacher," he said, and she was about to despair at what she _would _be allowed to do at the festival when he continued. "However, it is acceptable for a teacher to treat a student from time to time."

"Sometimes I appreciate that you're so responsible," Midori answered honestly, and her stomach growled so loudly that it was impossible that Himuro didn't hear it.

"What is it that you want to eat?" he asked her.

She thought about it for a minute, but the answer was obvious.

"Taiyaki!" was what she said.

* * *

So I completely underestimated the length of this story, I decided to break it up into four parts, rather than having an excessively huge second chapter. Please do stay tuned for the next part, which actually does feature Tsukushi, although you'll have to read to find out whether he will reveal mysteries concerning the Midori's underwear.

Love,

Gabi


	3. Action, Reaction, Causality, &Escalation

**Sharing the Same Sky, We Are as Close as Lovers**

_Tokimeki Memorial Girl's Side First Love_

_Himuro Reiichi x Heroine_

_**By Gabihime at gmail dot com**_

_Part Three: Action, Reaction, Causality, and Escalation_

* * *

Inevitably, they headed back down the arcade in the direction of Delicious Taiyaki. Midori made no attempts to leave off holding onto Himuro's arm, and Himuro made no attempts to shake her off. He even folded his arm slightly, which made it easier for her to keep her arms linked around it. It wasn't as if he were giving an _open endorsement_ to her behavior, but he was apparently at least tolerating it, which was good enough for her.

_After all, if I wasn't holding his arm like this, he'd surely be holding my hand, so it's not like it's so very different,_ she reasoned to herself. And the heady feeling of being on Himuro's arm, whether he expressly wished her there or not, was a new and intoxicating pleasure that she was not yet ready to give up, even _if_ going hand-in-hand might have been nearly as good.

They advanced together down the arcade at a pace that for anyone else would have been perfectly reasonable, but for her supremely efficient sensei it seemed _positively idle_.

_He doesn't seem to care very much about keeping to a schedule right now,_she thought, but she kept this observation to herself. Having such a secret to keep left her feeling inordinately pleased with herself, and being so pleased she could not help but feel slightly, and yet delightfully, wicked.

She began humming measures of Mozart again, and he briefly glanced down at her.

"That's the third movement of Mozart's Piano Sonata Number Twenty-One again," Himuro observed, and then was silent for a moment in contemplation before he continued. "You seem to be in a particularly good mood."

"I am _gioioso scherzando allegro vivace_, sensei," she confessed, laughing easily, then squeezed his arm for the pure pleasure of squeezing it. "The only thing I regret is that I didn't bring my flute or my violin with me to the festival. I should have known I'd want them."

"It's reasonable that you imagined you wouldn't need them. Not many people bring an instrument with them to a festival unless they expect to preform before the crowd," he answered evenly.

"But music, sensei," she struggled to explain, "It's the way my heart speaks. I'm so exhilarated right now, I just want to share that feeling with the _whole world_. I feel like I'm going to burst from all the feelings going _dokun-dokun_ inside."

"I know," he said, and that was all he said, so she leaned her head briefly against his shoulder, a brush of her hair against his sleeve, then she resumed walking properly, like a good student. She wasn't sure exactly how much he would tolerate from her, and she didn't want to ruin her splendid evening by being too pushy and making him annoyed.

"Even still, it isn't so bad," she said cheerfully. "I did leave my flute and my violin at home, but I brought my recorder at least. It's here in my bag," she unhooked one of her arms from his and patted the bag at her hip before resuming their union. "I can't go about without _anything at all_ to play."

Himuro was well aware that Midori had developed an inscrutable attachment to a cheap plastic recorder that was better suited to an elementary school girl than it was to a serious music student, and that she carried it with her everywhere.

"I don't understand what attracts you to that thing," he confessed shortly. "It's not as if the recorder isn't a beautiful instrument in its own right, but if you wanted to study it you should at least have gotten one made out of wood."

Midori hummed a few bars of one of Vivaldi's flute concertos for recorder in response, and then shrugged eloquently. "But I bought that one myself with my own spending money, and it's the first instrument I ever bought, all myself. Oh, I know it's not made as well as my flute or my violin, but it's simple and common, and that makes me love it. Music is for everyone!"

Yumeno Midori was a third generation concert musician who came from a family whose dedication to the arts went unquestioned. She had begun serious music lessons at five years old, and her sister had begun dancing at a similar age. They had both studied the arts abroad as children. Enough care had been taken with their educations that Himuro sincerely doubted Midori had ever before had an instrument that was _common_.

"Besides," she was saying, "I think part of it is just playing make-believe. I never got to play a recorder like this when I was in elementary school, but something like that - playing in a recital with all my classmates - seems very exciting." She thought about it. "Maybe you ought to start teaching the recorder to the students in homeroom. I bet it would be a good bonding experience for everyone."

Himuro coughed, which was his attempt to stifle an unbidden chuckle. It was strange. He never had to worry about giving his emotions away except around Yumeno Midori, who apparently exerted some mysterious force of nature on him. It was the only explanation that he could accept as to why he found himself behaving differently around her than he did around everyone else.

A glance down at her upturned, expectant face revealed that she was quite serious and apparently had no idea that her request was, well, _silly_.

"I'll take your idea into consideration," is what he answered solemnly, and her smile lit up his evening in response.

_Festivals_, he thought precisely at that moment, _are not that bad._

The causality of this thought was difficult to deny, but he did his best to deny it anyway.

_"_I suppose I'm also a little sad that I didn't wear my yukata this evening," Midori continued. "I would have worn it if I thought I was going to meet sensei. Satomi-chan wore hers, even though her plans were to spend the evening with Tsukushi." She suddenly fluttered one hand in front of her face, "Ah, you know sensei, that's my little brother."

"I remember the hooligan," Himuro answered. "I caught him backstage at the Culture Festival last year and he tried to talk himself out of being ejected."

Midori laughed sheepishly, "That's Tsukushi, certainly: a hooligan. Grandpapa says he takes after papa, although I don't know how true that is. Grandpapa usually says that about anything he doesn't completely approve of. I'm surprised he didn't try to get sensitive personal information out of you."

"He did," answered Himuro. "But I saw no reason to give my personal phone number to an elementary school student."

"Well," she said, "Maybe you ought to give it to me, at least. I'm your student, after all. And I might need it, for, um, for, in case . . . " she tried very hard to think of a plausible reason, "In case I'm ever kidnapped by the yakuza, and need to call for help."

Himuro coughed again, because her sudden turn of reasoning was _unexpected_. "Perhaps I should talk to your parents about the sort of movies you've been watching," he said, after he recovered from his cough. "And why would you call me if you were kidnapped? It would make more sense if you called your parents, or the police."

"Wouldn't you want to know?" she asked wonderingly, as if this reason was perfectly plain and obvious.

He did not cough again, lest she think he was coming down with a case of rapid-onset summer influenza, but it did take him a moment to construct a response that he felt was suitable. "If you can ever prove to me that the yakuza have suddenly taken an interest in you, then I will give you my phone number," he said very gravely. "But not before."

"_Himurochi_," she wheedled plaintively, but he was firm.

"Not before."

* * *

Her gambit having failed, Midori was perturbed for the better part of a minute, until they at last came upon the taiyaki stand of their previous acquaintance, and Midori forgot her disappointment in the face of acquiring a festival delicacy.

She stood back, gazing at the taiyaki stand as if it were the garden of earthly delights, and then tugged on Himuro's arm excitedly.

"Sensei, sensei," she began, her eyes starry, "What kind of taiyaki do you like best? Of course, the red bean kind is traditional, and therefore _must _be considered first, otherwise the feeling of things is wrong. But the custard filled ones are so rich and creamy, while at the same time being as light as heaven. And the chocolate ones - everyone loves the chocolate ones, naturally. The ones with green tea filling are also delicious, so maybe you like those the best. They have a sober character, like sensei. Their sweetness is delicate and hidden. You won't detect it unless you pay careful attention. And we can't forget about the ones filled with savory things, like cheese, or sausage. Ah, you know what I bet would taste wonderful? Taiyaki filled with sweet Chinese-style barbecue. Sensei, sensei, which kind? Which kind is your favorite?"

He patiently listened until she had completely finished her beatification of taiyaki before answering her as soberly as green tea filling.

"I don't usually eat things like taiyaki."

She fluttered one of her hands as if this was an unacceptable answer.

"Of course you don't. If we ate taiyaki all the time it wouldn't be as special as it is." She paused briefly as she thought about it, "And it wouldn't be very healthy. Anything in excess is bad for you, _even taiyaki,_" she pronounced this last bit as if it might be information that was difficult to believe. "So taiyaki is a food you share with your friends at a festival. It tastes better _because _you share it," she explained patiently, as if he were her student in this lecture series about festival food, friendship, and passionate youth. "So even considering that you don't _usually _eat things like taiyaki, what kind is your favorite?"

He was unsure of what to say. His stock answer in situations similar to this one had been for years, 'Such things are not a part of my diet.' So he had disposed of countless homemade lunches, valentine's chocolates, and Sport's Day breads. He did not think this approach would continue to work in this situation. Given Midori's utter certainty that taiyaki was an irreplaceable part of a full and well-lived youth, he did not think he would be able to convince her that he had never eaten any, and therefore had no interest in it, nor any opinions concerning it. Even if he did manage to convince her of this, he was certain her reaction would be one of horror mixed with pity, and then she would make it her special mission to remedy this terrible oversight in his life experiences.

And it wasn't as if he had never eaten taiyaki in his entire life. He had, he was vaguely sure, eaten it at least once at a festival in the misty past. He was still reflecting on how to answer her question when he realized that she was talking again.

She had placed both hands against her cheeks and tilted her head to the side while she smiled, her face faintly flushed. "Ah," she made a small sound of contentment. "I'm going to make a memory of eating taiyaki with Himuro-sensei. It's so wonderful."

"_Red bean,_" is what he blurted out instinctively - unintentional, emphatic, and deeply embarrassing. He immediately looked away, his own face flushed, and he felt like an idiot.

"I see, I see!" she answered cheerfully, and as she did her open palm slid down his arm and she took his hand companionably. "Sensei is a traditional sort of person when it comes to certain things. So if we go out to sing karaoke together, will Sensei sing enka with me?"

He turned sharply back around to deny this possibility, but when he did he realized that she was grinning at him, like a cheeky little imp. Before he could move to retort she had tapped him on the tip of his nose with her index finger.

"Himurochi is hilarious when he makes such a serious face," she announced, then released his hand as she turned on her heel to face him and leaned forward winsomely, so she was looking up at his face. "And I think, just maybe, that if I asked sensei to sing enka with me, he would." Here she winked, and it was as if her wink generated both twinkling sparkles and a suitable sound effect as her mouth turned up at both corners. "But only if it was _me _who asked."

Then she spun herself around with a light-hearted flourish and closed the distance between herself and the taiyaki stand before he could think of anything to say or do.

As he stood there, his palm still tingling from the warmth of her hand, watching her wriggle slightly in anticipation of ordering her taiyaki, he tried very seriously to tell himself that he would never be swayed into going to karaoke with a female student, and even if he did take her, say, for a study in the cultural anthropology of modern music, he would not _sing, _he would not sing_ enka, _he would not sing enka _with her _-

But imagining the scene in detail - her eyes sparkling, her cheeks rosy from the excitement of singing, and her mouth a little open as she prepared to laugh or warble in her silly, charming way, leaning towards him with her finger ready to slide down the list of songs in the selection book -

He sighed and pushed his glasses up his nose with two fingers.

Sometimes there was just no use in even trying to pretend.

He closed the space between himself and her back just as she was saying, "Mr. Taiyaki Man, we're ready to order, we're ready to order!"

Himuro unbuttoned his suit jacket and began to take out his wallet as he nodded to the taiyaki cook and said, "Let her have whatever she wants."

Midori looked up at him then with an expression that appeared to be a mixture of adoration and utterly pleased, self-satisfied _smugness_, and he suddenly had an unexpected feeling of _alarm _at what she might be capable of as her eyes glittered.

But what was done was done, and he had no time to react to correct his oversight. He had given her free reign over something, even if it was only free reign over taiyaki.

"Okay, Mr. Taiyaki Man," she was already chirping along cheerfully, "We'll have four: two with red bean, one with egg custard, and one with green tea. Sorry for the trouble and thank you very much," she sang out.

Himuro unfolded his wallet and gave some bills over to the vendor. Ultimately, the cost of four taiyaki at a festival made very little difference to a grown man who drove a Maserati, but it was not the price in coin that worried him. It was the price in blood. He had let her completely have her way with something. Inevitably, the only effect this could possibly have would be to make her more bold, and he wasn't sure he was equipped to handle her firing on any more cylinders than she was already.

He covered his worry by looking down at her skeptically. She was still swaying in place and singing some sort of nonsense song to herself about taiyaki while she waited for their order.

"You're really going to eat four?" he asked her, and he could not help but look at her stomach.

She stopped singing long enough to answer by planting her hands on her hips. "Of course I'm not going to eat four. You're going to help me," she said, as if this ought to be obvious. "Besides, I'm a growing girl who needs to eat a lot of food to keep up her strength and her energy. Himurochi doesn't understand this, because he's stopped growing." Here she stretched up on her toes and held her hands as high above her head as she could to illustrate what she thought of his impressive growth.

Midori happily accepted their order once it was done, and Himuro was looking around for a suitable place for them to sit and eat when he realized that Midori was no longer at his side. Alarmed, he scanned the area, and briefly entertained all sorts of alarming fantasies, including one featuring the yakuza, but then he spotted her a dozen feet away, kneeling to talk to a small boy whom he immediately recognized.

It was the grandson of the Miboshi house, the one whom they had so recently met at this very spot.

Himuro was unable to hear what they were talking about as the din of the festival was not conducive to eavesdropping and they both seemed to be pitching their voices low, but Midori appeared to be all smiles. The little boy looked mildly mortified, but she kept smiling and patting him on the head, until he at last pointed in Himuro's direction and apparently said something with some force, to which Midori responded by first throwing her head back and laughing and then by shaking her head, then nodding as she pressed one of the taiyaki on him. The boy cast one more baleful glance in Himuro's direction before gathering his newly-gifted taiyaki to his chest and running off, back down the arcade.

Midori watched him go, a smile on her face, and then stood and trotted back to Himuro, humming her piano sonata again.

"I thought four taiyaki were a bit much, even for you," he remarked dryly, crossing his arms. "When did you spot that little urchin?"

She cocked her head to the side and smiled a smile of blissful contentment, because her plan had come off without one hitch. She moved back to Himuro's side dutifully.

"While sensei was so deep in thought mooning about which kind of taiyaki he liked to eat," she explained, laughing. Then she looked at his arm, and then she looked back at her own hands, filled with taiyaki, and realized that with her bounty she had no way to either hold his hand or curl her fingers around his slightly bent arm.

Himuro looked down at Midori, glancing first from her hands to his arm and back to her hands, as an expression of despair threatened to set in. Would she be forced to choose between her beloved sensei and her beloved taiyaki? _The world was a cruel place._

But then, without a word of explanation or acknowledgement, he offered her his arm while looking away, as if the lanterns hung along the street at intervals deeply interested him. He didn't look down as he felt her arm threaded through his and the taiyaki settled again, and he didn't even look down when he heard her cheerful and sweet 'thank you, sensei,' but simply kept his eyes straight ahead and scanned silently for a place to sit as they moved methodically down the arcade again.

They found a place to sit on a bench near an electronics store, and Himuro allowed her to find her seat first with her burden of taiyaki, then settled himself on the bench next to her. They hadn't spoken as they'd walked down the arcade together, and this apparently suited Midori, since she'd simply hummed and leaned her head against his shoulder. As he thought about it, he came to the sinking conclusion that they probably did not appear to be a teacher and student. But then as he contemplated it further, he realized that although this thought almost perpetually worried him, it really did not worry him _all that much_. It did not worry him enough to ask her to take her head off his shoulder or to stop walking so close to him. He _enjoyed _those things.

In fact, oftener and oftener he wondered if they weren't the only things in his life that he _did _enjoy these days.

It wasn't as if he enjoyed the common pleasures of his life any less than he had ever done. It was more as if these pleasures were being eclipsed by pleasures they had no ability to compete with: as if the set of his common pleasures increased on a geometric scale while this set of new and heretofore unknown pleasures increased on an exponential one.

Of course, the converse was also true. His life had stopped being even and regulated, and his heart, once the very model of methodical, logical precision, had become a sea of chaos.

Yumeno Midori _troubled_ him.

But she did not trouble him enough that he asked her to stop.

If she suddenly stopped her smiles and gentle teasing, the heartfelt observations of the world she shared privately with him, her silly, sentimental view of the universe, the care she obviously tried to put into everything she did for him, whether she succeeded or not - this would have somehow been much worse.

He almost said _"Midori - "_suddenly, as he was looking down at her, but he bit his tongue at the last moment.

It was something he could not say. It would break one of the rules.

So instead, he said "Yumeno," because he really did get a kind of comfort out of just saying her name, even when he was getting ready to reprimand her. It was a way of reassuring himself that she was there, that she did exist, that she was sharing a park bench with him, and attempting to share her taiyaki.

"Sensei," she was saying, as she pressed taiyaki upon him. "You said you wanted red bean, so this one is for you. It ought to be very good because it's still hot, but be careful you don't burn yourself on the filling."

He accepted the taiyaki from her and watched her put one of the remaining two pieces into her lap and hold the third up to him for inspection.

"Which way do you like to eat them, sensei?" she was asking seriously. "From the head or from the tail? If you start from the head, which is logical, when you finally get to the tail there won't be any filling left. But if you start from the tail, then the filling at the end of the nose may have cooled some and might not be as delicious. It is a question that has had much heated debate."

"How is it that you eat yours?" he asked, eying the way she held her taiyaki head down. "From the tail?"

"Oh no," she reassured him, "I alternate. Like clockwork," she said, as if this part were very important. "If I eat one from the head, I eat the next from the tail, and I always remember which I ate last. The last one I ate was from the head, so I have to eat this one from the tail. That way I experience both the triumph and the tragedy of taiyaki more fully and without favoritism."

This explanation seemed to be very much in keeping with her personality, so the corner of his mouth turned up very briefly before he answered, "That seems very logical. I will also make it my practice."

She nodded at this, because obviously, her systematic way of eating taiyaki made a great deal of sense to her, and then she commenced munching on the tail of her taiyaki, which turned out to be the egg custard one. Himuro thoughtfully took a bite out of the head of his piece and for a while they both ate in silence.

As they each neared the end of their respective pieces, Himuro getting down to the tail, with no filling left, and Midori struggling with the sticky filling that had collected in the head, she made a contented noise.

"This is really great, isn't it?" she asked him happily. "Sharing taiyaki at a festival. It's sure to become a precious memory."

"Mm," he answered noncommittally, which is the only way he felt he _could _answer.

They both finished their pieces of taiyaki, and suddenly she put another question to him, "How was it sensei? Did you like it? Doesn't sharing it with someone make the experience of taiyaki increase a hundred fold in power?"

"It was," he admitted slowly, "Enjoyable."

It was the truth, after all. He had enjoyed himself. He had enjoyed himself all evening, from catching her on the street, terrifying the naughty little boy, and having her lean on his arm as they walked together. But he couldn't say all that to her. It wouldn't be right. So instead, he told her what he allowed himself to say: that he had enjoyed sharing taiyaki with her.

It was simple and it was true.

She was apparently waiting for this sign from him because she enthusiastically produced the third piece of taiyaki before him.

"This is the fabled green tea taiyaki," she intimated, "It's serious flavor hides a delicate, hidden sweetness. I bought this one to share, because I felt that sensei ought to try it. It's your duty to share it with me, you know. If I try to eat it all myself, I might get sick."

"Yumeno," he began, but she waved him off as if his protests were not worth hearing.

"It's all right, sensei," she said. "First I'll eat half and then you can eat half. That way we'll have shared it, and it will be a special memory."

Seeing how much it meant to her, he was willing to be a little lenient with her. After all, what she wanted wasn't so bad. It could, he considered, be _much worse_. Thinking briefly of how much worse it might be, he coughed, then cleared his throat. There was only one thing to do.

"All right, Yumeno," he said. "I'll share it with you."

She was looking down at the taiyaki happily, when suddenly her expression froze and she looked back up at him, her mouth hanging a little open.

"Sensei," she began. "You ate yours from the head, right?" she asked.

"Correct," he answered slowly.

"That means the next one you eat you have to eat from the tail down." She pointed briefly at her mouth. "I ate mine from the tail first. That means I have to eat the next one from the head down. But if we try to eat it from the head end and then the tail end, then all the filling will fall out, no matter how we do it."

"It's all right, Yumeno," Himuro began with some deliberateness, "I'll just eat it from the head down when you give the bottom half to me. Then the filling won't come out."

"No!" she cried, holding one finger up in front of his nose. "Switching from head to tail to head is a sacred oath taken before Buddha!" she announced, as if this were something he ought to know. She squirmed in her seat. "I guess I could go order another one and eat it from the head so we could eat the green tea one from the tail together." She put her hands over her stomach and wailed, "But I know if I tried to eat three I'd be sick." She sniffled, and it seemed very much as if she would cry again. "All I wanted was to share taiyaki with sensei - "

"Yumeno," he interrupted her, and when she did not immediately respond, he repeated himself, "_Yumeno_!" At this her sniffling halted and she gave him her undivided attention, as if he might be preparing to pull a rabbit out of a hat. "Yumeno," he explained, "It's simple. We can still share the piece of green tea taiyaki, and neither of us has to try and eat another piece." He took the taiyaki from her to explain. "First you take a bite here," he pointed at the head, "And then give it to me. I'll take a bite here," he pointed at the tail. "We'll keep trading it back and forth until we just can't manage it anymore. It's not a perfect solution, but it will probably," he paused for a moment, unwilling to continue, but at last he managed it. "It will probably be fun."

He had miraculously dispelled the clouds gathering in her heart, and she smiled beatifically at him.

"Sensei," she admired, with politely clapping hands, "You really do always know what's best, don't you?"

"Mm," was what he said, as he passed the taiyaki back to her for the preliminary bite.

She took her bite, and then obediently passed it back to him.

And so it went, with Midori's bites seemingly all at random around the head of the taiyaki, while Himuro's were methodically placed along the tail section, with an eye toward maintaining the taiyaki's structural integrity for as long as possible. Soon the taiyaki was bleeding from many wounds, and its green tea filling oozed out slightly, and Midori ended up with some on the tip of her nose. As he moved to brush it away with his thumb, she laughed, and then he laughed, very quietly.

At last, the taiyaki collapsed in on itself and they were forced to admit defeat with sticky fingers, and Himuro knew that she had been right: it _had _been fun, and now it was certainly a memory that was quite unlike any other he had.

He was idly and discreetly licking the filling off his thumb when he realized she was watching very intently.

He cleared his throat and immediately looked away, forcing himself to put both of his hands at his sides as he attempted to calmly ask, "Yumeno, is there something I can help you with?"

Her answer was playful and genuine, and a smile was evident in her voice, even if he would not turn to see it.

"Oh sensei," she said, "You already do, all of the time."

* * *

So this is now the third part of Sharing the Same Sky, and Tsukushi has still not yet appeared. Poor boy. He keeps getting shoved back. He really honestly should appear in the next part, but this part was already getting so long that I felt like I shouldn't force the rest of the scenes into it. So therefore there will be a part four and a part five. And by then it really should be over, I promise.

Yes, I ought to note here that Yumeno Midori has an identical twin sister Yumeno Satomi. This is already obvious from context clues in the story, but I thought I would elaborate a little. They are both students at Habataki Gakuen and both residents of Himuro-sensei's homeroom. Midori is the elder sister by some minutes, and is generally the more outgoing creature. Satomi is more serious, aloof, and a little awkward. Midori's heart goes dokidokiwakuwaku for Himuro, while Satomi is Kei's girl of the promise, although this is not a fact he realizes immediately. This is my practical way of countering Himuro's private despairs and Kei's quiet desperation. Since the heroine's life and family are left totally up to the player, with the exception of Tsukushi, I have decided to take that ball and run with it, and so you have the Yumeno sisters: one bright like the sun, the other as pale as the moon.

They are my Habataki Gakuen O'Sullivan twins, because sometimes it's really enjoyable to read about people who are grossly talented XD

Anyway, I remain,

Gabi


	4. Plural Pronouns

**Sharing the Same Sky, We Are as Close as Lovers**

_Tokimeki Memorial Girl's Side First Love_

_Himuro Reiichi x Heroine_

_**By Gabihime at gmail dot com**_

_Part Four: Plural Pronouns_

* * *

After disposing of the remains of the collapsed green tea taiyaki, Himuro suggested they locate a restroom to wash their hands and faces, as their memory, now fondly in the near past, had left an inconvenient mess in its wake. He disliked being untidy, and while he was willing to put up with it in the moment, particularly when Midori was looking at him with starry eyes, after the moment passed he itched to fall into a fury of self-grooming until he was once again austere and perfect.

Midori was amenable, and so they went their separate ways into the appropriate washrooms and met again in the street, both feeling refreshed. With her stomach filled with taiyaki, and her heart filled with the image of Himuro judiciously licking green tea filling off his thumb, Midori was in high spirits, and quite prepared to experience absolutely everything the shopping arcade's Tanabata celebration had to offer. After all, it wasn't even eight o'clock yet. She surely had at least a little while to spend with Himuro yet, before she had to responsibly escort her beloved Grandpapa back home to his bed.

She had linked her arm through Himuro's and was just thinking on what they should do next when she heard a familiar voice behind her.

"Onee-chan," it called, and as she turned around, the call was repeated, "Midori-onee-chan!"

It was Tsukushi, the youngest of the Yumeno family, and perhaps the canniest. He was a popular elementary student, a powerful information broker, and perhaps most importantly, her younger brother. He was a little out of breath as he jogged up to her, but he soon recovered.

"Tsukushi!" she exclaimed, surprised that he would come upon her in such a fashion in the middle of the festival, particularly when he was supposed to be spending it with her sister Satomi. She peered to the left and right around him, but she saw no sign of her sister. "Where's Satomi-chan? Why aren't you with her?" She put her hand against her breastbone as she made a small gasp, "Nothing's wrong is it? Nothing has happened to Satomi-chan or Grandpapa has it?"

Tsukushi raised both of his hands in front of his face and waved them in a flurry in an attempt to head his sister's worst fears off at the pass. "Midori-onee-chan, calm down. Everything's fine! The Old Man is fine. Satomi-onee-chan is fine. _Everyone _is fine."

Midori heaved a sigh of relief and then fluttered her hand at Himuro, "This is my brother Tsukushi, sensei. Tsukushi, this is Himuro-sensei."

"We've met," Himuro reminded flatly.

Tsukushi made a short, respectful bow, "Sensei."

"Mm," said Himuro in response.

Midori let go of his arm and stepped towards her brother, cocking her head to the side.

"Well, where is Satomi-chan? She made plans to spend the festival with you, didn't she?" she asked, then frowned. "You didn't go and leave her some place strange, did you Tsukushi? I won't forgive you if you did!"

Tsukushi waved both his palms at his sister again, "I don't know where you get these weird ideas, Midori-onee-chan. I didn't do anything to her. Sure, she agreed to spend the festival with me," he said. "What she didn't tell me is that she also made plans to spend it with Hazuki-san. She didn't tell him either. Apparently she had no clue that this was _not the best idea_. Because I am a good brother and I love both my older sisters very much, I excused myself from their date and told Satomi-chan that I'd be fine on my own."

"And Satomi-chan let you go?" Midori asked incredulously. "You're only an elementary school student!"

Tsukushi put one hand on his hip and rolled his eyes. "Honestly, onee-chan, I'm more capable than you and Satomi-onee-chan put together. I worry about the two of you when you go out alone."

Himuro thought about interjecting seriously to defend Midori's general competence, but then reflected that he _also _worried about her when she was out on her own. She was charming and winning and innocent and sweet and completely trusting. Given these qualities, he was surprised the yakuza hadn't abducted her before.

After giving her little brother a _look_, Midori decided to otherwise ignore his comment. "Well, the festival probably isn't very dangerous," she leaned back on her heels, thinking about it. "What are you going to do when it's time to go home? Are you coming home with Grandpapa and I?"

Tsukushi shrugged his shoulders, as if he was relieved that she had finally let him get to his point. "That's why I came to find you. Otherwise I wouldn't disturb your, uh," he eyed Himuro briefly, "Study session. I already talked to the Old Man and he sent me to tell you that he'd let me take him home when he's ready to go, so you and nee-chan don't have to worry."

"I can't let you do that, Tsukushi! You're just a little kid, and Grandpapa is my responsibility!" Midori protested.

"Look," said Tsukushi, folding his arms behind his head. "I'm just telling you what the Old Man said. He told me to tell you that he's _absolutely _going home with me no matter what you say, so you might as well enjoy your evening."

Midori was deeply moved by her grandfather's sacrifice on her behalf. He and Tsukushi were not the best of friends, and he far preferred her doting to Tsukushi's irreverence. For him to relieve her of her responsibilities to him for this one night and let her do as she pleased - surely he was the finest grandfather in the world.

"I'm afraid my car only has two seatbelts," Himuro said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Oh, I know," said Tsukushi, still leaning back. Then he hastened to correct himself. "I mean, the Old Man knows. We're going to take a taxi home when he's ready."

"Do you need any money?" Midori asked, putting her hand into her bag to find her wallet.

Tsukushi shrugged again and shook his head, "No, Satomi-onee-chan gave me loads. I have plenty. Besides, it's not like the Old Man doesn't have a wallet."

Midori sighed and then pleaded, "Tsukushi, try to be gentle and loving to him. He's the only grandpapa that you have!"

Tsukushi rolled his eyes before answering, "Thank goodness. I dunno what I'd do with two of him. Anyway, we'll be fine. We called a truce for the evening."

"Well," she said doubtfully, "As long as you're getting along."

Tsukushi patted his sister's arm. "We're getting along like peaches and cream. Or like, prunes and cream I guess." He suddenly turned his attention to Himuro again. "Sensei, do you think I could borrow your cell phone for a minute to schedule a taxi for later? The Old Man gave me the number and the time."

Himuro almost automatically moved to unbutton his jacket and retrieve his cell phone, but then he remembered his last encounter with this espionage expert and raised an eyebrow.

"Why don't you use your sister's cell phone?" he asked suspiciously.

Tsukushi made an exaggerated shrug. "Onee-chan's phone is perpetually out of power because she never remembers to charge it, so I usually don't bother asking."

Himuro fixed Midori with a stare, and she obediently dug in her bag again and produced her cell phone, which she held in front of her so they could all examine it. As Tsukushi predicted, it was grey and blank and would not turn on because it was entirely out of power.

"See, onee-chan, this is why I worry about you when you're out on your own," Tsukushi explained and Himuro felt he knew exactly what the boy was feeling. He was _mildly worried_about Midori's ability to take care of herself in basic life situations.

_This is why Grandfather Yumeno wanted me to look after her this evening, _he thought. _She really shouldn't be left alone._

Mollified, Himuro again made to unbutton his jacket and give over his cell phone, but he stopped when he happened to catch a momentary glint in Tsukushi's eyes. He produced his wallet instead and gave the urchin some change and advised him that there was a pay phone near the electronics store.

Tsukushi muttered something under his breath in response, and it sounded as if it might have been 'cheapskate.' Then he was all smiles again, and a respectful bow to Himuro. He assured his sister again that he and 'the Old Man,' would be perfectly all right, and then slyly suggested that if Himuro gave his phone number over, Tsukushi could call him and inform Midori when he and the grandfather were at home safely. Midori looked about to agree with her brother's suggestion when Himuro interceded.

He put one hand on Tsukushi's shoulder very seriously and then said, as if he were the heartless but inspiring coach in a television drama, "We have great confidence in you, boy. Now go and fly fearlessly into your future!"

Utterly defeated, Tsukushi went.

Midori smiled fondly at Himuro as her brother departed, and she moved to take his arm again.

"I think you gave him a lot of confidence," she said.

"I am not entirely convinced," he answered, watching the boy go, "That he needs it."

* * *

With her brother gone and her responsibilities for the evening entirely dispensed with, Midori found that the shopping arcade opened to new and heretofore unknown vistas of delight. She had begun to gravitate in the direction of the small turtles again, leading Himuro along, when suddenly she spied something that made her stop dead in her tracks.

It was the most adorable thing that she had ever seen, and it was hanging there, above her head, from the eave of a nearby booth.

Without consulting Himuro at all, she let go of his arm, charged right over to the counter, and planted both of her hands.

"How much to play?" she asked, not even knowing what sort of a game it was.

"One big one, little lady," laughed the barrel chested man behind the counter, whose bald head gleamed under the lantern lights.

She dug in her bag and produced a large round coin, and pushed at the man, who offered her a pop gun in return. She looked down at it, there in her hands, and it was at this point that it occurred to her to ask.

She pointed up above her head, at the treasured item. "How do I win that, mister?"

He stroked his chin and nodded twice. "Ah, setting your sights high right off the bat, huh, little lady? That one's extra large, so you need to score a thousand points in three shots or less."

Then the barker turned around and began explaining the targets to her and their point values. Not surprisingly, a thousand points in three shots would be very difficult. There were only three targets with values high enough to allow her to make that score, two at five hundred points a piece, and one at seven hundred and fifty, and all three of them were small and somewhat oddly placed.

She took a deep breath and tried to prepare herself. Himuro had followed her to the booth, and had been standing behind her as she received the explanation as to the rules and reward structure.

"Just relax," he advised, "And be sure to use your sights. Be calm, and picture in your mind that the bullet has already struck the target. When you fire, you're not causing the the bullet to hit the target, but rather, the act of hitting the target has led you to firing the gun."

"Sensei," she began uncertainly, raising the gun to check the sights, "I'm not sure I understand."

Himuro crossed his arms over his chest. "It is not to understand," he explained. "It is to _know_."

"Um, all right," she said, and took another deep breath. "I'll try."

She raised the gun so she could sight down the barrel, and then leaned forward until both her elbows were steady on the counter. Then she fired: once, twice, and at last a third time.

She earned two hundred points, and that she earned even two hundred was a miracle, as the last pop bullet had ricocheted off something else to impact the target that she scored on.

The barker offered her his condolences, and then allowed her to choose a small prize for her points. She selected a key chain with some little bells on it because she thought they made a pleasant sound.

Holding her key chain cupped in her palms, Midori looked up forlornly at the extra large prize that was jut out of her reach and wondered if she could really afford to play again. She resolved that she really couldn't. Their were birthdays to think of, and the school trip was happening in the autumn, and Midori had no personal income apart from her monthly allowance. She was just getting her heart accustomed to the idea that the most adorable thing would not be coming home with her when she heard her sensei clear his throat.

"I'll play," he said, and put his wallet down on the counter.

"Sensei!" she cried, her heart leaping. She clapped her hands at his show of chivalrousness.

He turned to look at her and he smiled very briefly before he turned his attention back to the targets, his eyes narrowed. He studied the layout of the booth carefully for some seconds, then selected his pop gun and leaned deliberately over the counter. After sighting carefully, he fired once, twice, thrice.

Then he leaned back in consternation.

He had made zero points.

"You," he said, addressing the barker, with some sharpness, "Are you sure these are calibrated properly?"

The barker laughed. "Sure. I calibrated them all myself this morning. Of course, kids have been playing with them all afternoon, so some of them may be a little out of whack. You're welcome to recalibrate them," and here he raised a canny eyebrow, "Of course, every three shots will cost you one big one."

"That's fine," answered Himuro shortly, and Midori watched as he passed the barker another coin and took the small cork pellets in return.

Himuro studied the pop gun for some minutes, took it to pieces, fiddled with it, and then reassembled it. All the while, other people came to the barker, took their shots, collected their prizes, if they won any, and left. Midori watched Himuro intently as he worked, and then applauded when he successfully reassembled the popgun.

"Himuro-sensei, fight!" she cheered, throwing a fist into the air.

He leaned back over the counter with his reassembled weapon, and planted his elbows firmly before taking his three shots.

Again, he made no points.

"Fight, sensei, fight!" Midori continued to cheer, as Himuro passed another coin to the barker and the barker again provided him with cork bullets.

Midori watched Himuro take several shots this way, and pass several coins and bills to the barker, all the while cheering for him, her spirit in no way diminished by the fact that he had not yet succeeded. The determined look on his face made her heart flutter and she knew she could never suggest that he give up, no matter how much money he gave the barker. As long as her sensei was willing to fight, then she was willing to believe in him.

This didn't stop her from offering him advice between her cheers, however.

"Sensei, maybe you ought to use the Weaver stance when you shoot, like James Bond," she said, and then cupped her face in her hands, flushing, "Sensei would look so wonderful."

"Buuuuuuuu," said a voice directly behind her. "James Bond doesn't use the Weaver stance," it said, "Besides, the Weaver stance is for handguns. You can't use it with a rifle, even a toy rifle. Maybe he ought to try the quick kill method."

Midori wheeled around to find herself face to face with a giant cat whose small pink nose was only centimeters from hers.

"Waugh!" she cried out in surprise jumped back, nearly falling over the counter behind her. But then the huge cat moved to the side and Midori recognized her sister Satomi's calm, serious face. The giant cat was a huge stuffed animal that Satomi was carrying in her arms, and Hazuki Kei was standing at her right.

"Good evening, Midori, Himuro-sensei," was what he said.

"Satomi-chan and Kei-kun," Midori heaved a sigh of relief. She was truly glad that the one offering her advice really wasn't a giant talking cat. A small talking cat would have been all right, but a giant talking cat was right out. "Have you been having a nice evening together? Isn't the festival wonderful?" she asked, radiating her own pleasure.

"The festival is very nice," Satomi agreed, her voice calm and slow. "We ate some ice cream, and then we wrote wish cards, and after that we went and looked at the little turtles."

Midori turned instinctively to shoot a pleading look at Himuro when the little turtles were mentioned, but Himuro was entirely focused on his target practice, and paid her no attention. Midori turned back to her sister.

"Did you win a little turtle?" she asked hopefully, but her sister shattered her hopes by gravely shaking her head.

"No," Satomi said, "We only looked at them. I don't need to own a little turtle. That they exist is enough."

Midori sighed deeply and leaned against the counter in resignation. There would be no little turtles for her, either at home, or here at the festival.

"We did play the pop gun game earlier though," Satomi announced seriously. "Kei-chan won this for me," she put the huge stuffed cat in front of her face again and exhibited it as if it might have been a rare treasure. Midori clapped politely, then remembered that her sensei was still doing battle with the shooting gallery on her behalf.

"Sensei, fight!" she cheered again, and Satomi and Kei came up behind her to watch Himuro shoot.

Himuro passed another coin to the gallery attendant and Midori tried not to think of how much he had paid this one barker in an attempt to win her the stuffed animal she wanted. She had seen him change out larger bills for coins twice already.

"Himuro-sensei," began Kei, after having observed Himuro shoot twice, "Don't sight down the barrel. Sight above the barrel."

"Mm," said Himuro in response, and this was his first acknowledgement that Satomi and Kei were there.

This time, Himuro hit the five hundred point target, but as it was his last shot of three, he did not qualify for an extra large stuffed animal, and instead Midori selected another smaller one when she was bidden. Nonplussed, Himuro silently gave over another coin and demanded his cork pellets.

This time he scored a thousand points in two shots and at last the tenseness in his shoulders seemed to relax as he stood up.

"Sensei, that was really impressive!" Midori was cheering happily as she produced a cute pink handkerchief from her bag to dab at the sweat that had beaded on his brow under the bright lights of the shooting gallery.

Himuro took the handkerchief from her and wiped his forehead with it before folding it and putting it into his pocket.

"To win a game like this requires systematic analysis of the physical conditions," he said to the three students that were gathered before him.

"What sensei says is not untrue," Satomi said, shifting the huge stuffed cat to one side to regard her teacher seriously. "Even Kei-chan had to try twice."

Kei, who was apparently embarrassed that Satomi had chosen this inopportune time to remind everyone of how he excelled at everything, said, "I probably play games like this a lot more often than Himuro-sensei, so he needed time to gather data."

Himuro very frowned briefly at the both of them, but then schooled his expression again. Midori, apparently had not realized that her sister had taken issue with Himuro's performance, and was still ecstatic that he had played on her behalf, won on her behalf, and now she could take home the most adorable stuffed animal in the world and it would be infinitely more special now, because her sensei had won it for her, and she would think of him every time she looked at it.

"Well, young man," the barker was guffawing, "I'd say you definitely earned that prize. Which one is it that you want, little lady?"

Midori pointed above her head delightedly, and the barker used a short pole to hook the stuffed animal and hand it down to her. She was in heaven as she wrapped it in her arms. It was as big as her sister's ridiculously huge cat.

She turned around to look at them again, her wonderful new acquisition clutched to her breast.

"Are you sure that's the one you wanted?" asked Kei, looking first from the stuffed animal in her arms and then to the row of other prizes that still hung like tempting apples from the eave of the shooting gallery.

Satomi looked entirely unsurprised. "Midori's sense of what is cute is," she paused and thought of how to say it, "Midori's sense of what is cute," she finished, and had no other way to explain herself. "Don't try to understand it. She's a strange girl."

This statement seemed dubious coming from her sister, who apparently thought it was fine to go on a date with the boy to whom she was slavishly devoted and bring her little brother along for advice and company.

"Satomi-chan is more strange," Midori observed frankly, then turned to show her prize to her sensei, who had fought so valiantly to win it.

"It's very," began Himuro, trying to keep his voice very even and steady and to not give himself away by coughing. "It's very nice."

"Isn't it?" she asked, her voice trilling a little. "I knew sensei would understand me," she said, clutching the huge stuffed chameleon to her chest and admiring how its sweet googley eyes reoriented themselves whenever she squeezed it and fawning over its charmingly curled tail and the sticky pads on its feet. "I'm going to name him Debussy," she announced.

"_Strange_," commented Satomi to the open air.

"What did you name your giant cat?" demanded Midori.

"Charmant," Satomi answered very seriously, with a touch of terrible smugness in her voice.

"_Strange_," Midori commented in return, sticking her tongue out.

Satomi was apparently unruffled by her sister's declaration and shrugged. "Kei-chan and I are going to eat taiyaki now. Do you want to come?"

Midori smiled, hugging her chameleon, but then shook her head. "No. Sensei and I already ate a lot of taiyaki. Make sure to try the egg custard one, because it's really delicious."

"Mm," nodded Satomi in agreement, then she put her hand in Kei's. "Have a good evening, onee-chan, Himuro-sensei."

"You should go straight home after the festival," Himuro said, as if he suddenly remembered that he was their teacher. "Don't linger anywhere. It's dangerous for students to be out late at night."

"Of course, sensei," was what Hazuki Kei said in return, and Midori was not entirely sure of it, but she could swear there was a faint undercurrent of amusement in his normally calm tone.

So they said their goodbyes, and Satomi and Kei departed down the arcade, leaving Midori standing next to Himuro, her arms full of her chameleon. She leaned her head far to one side, so her ear touched her shoulder and she smiled.

"Really, thank you very much, sensei. I really, _really_, really appreciate that you went to so much trouble for me. You have to let me try to make it up to you somehow." She thought about it and her brow scrunched up. Himuro was just on the cusp of assuring her that he required no reward when her face suddenly brightened. "I know!" she eurekaed, "I'll make you bento for one whole week next term. I'll even make them with your list, if you want me to," and here she began reciting from memory, "Four slices of rye bread, six stalks of celery, five hundred ccs of milk, um, some cheese?" She seemed unsure, but then she finished with, "And looooooots of vitamins and supplements, right, sensei?"

The prospect of lunches from the loving hands of his pet student hit Himuro in a weak point he hadn't know he had until recently. His normal diet was hellaciously methodical, and read like the ingredients a sports nutritionist might throw into a blender in an attempt to produce a healthy, _disgusting_, high energy drink. He was the sort of man who would have eaten food pills, had technology been sufficiently advanced. As it was, he often wondered why food scientists didn't perfect some sort of balanced cube diet for humans the way they'd done for lab mice.

But years of careful living and controlled eating had ended recently when Midori had forced some of her own homemade lunch on him. Although it was not what he was used to eating, _he liked it very much_, and quite against his will, as he had expected to swallow her cooking like bad medicine, due to a previous unfortunate experience.

"You don't have to be so precise. I'll trust you to use your own sense when you're packing the lunches," he said, "Your cooking has really improved over the past year."

"Hasn't it?" she glowed like a star on the water. "That's because I worked really hard. After sensei made me write that report about the spaghetti udon I made at camp last year, I realized that I really wanted sensei to eat what I made and not look like he was about to die, so I spent a lot of extra time studying cooking this year. I wish I could say that I'm a natural, but sensei knows the awful truth: I am not."

Concealed beneath the buttons of his suit and shirt front, Himuro's ego swelled at the realization that she had spent so much care and time on self-improvement for _his _benefit. He congratulated himself on fulfilling one of his sacred vows as a teacher: to help one of his precious students improve herself. Surely being able to cook would be a valuable skill in anyone's life, even the life of a professional musician.

Reflecting on his teaching vows, he hastened to remind her of the rules he had set out previously. "Don't let anyone else know you're bringing lunch to me or we'll both be in trouble. I'll take them, since you seem so excited about making them, but remember, it's for one week only, and you mustn't tell anyone."

"Why would I tell anyone?" she asked curiously, the way she always did. "It doesn't have anything to do with them. It only has to do with us."

Himuro felt that strange mixture of elation and fear in the pit of his stomach again, and this time he knew the cause. He always felt this way when Midori used plural pronouns.

'_We _understand one another.' 'It's wonderful when _we _play the piano together, sensei.' '_We _just won't tell anyone right?' 'Do you think anyone will know it was _us_?' '_We've_ both been staying late to share our music with one another, right sensei?'

His mind swam as he was besieged with small turns of phrase, isolated bits of conversation, all of those little things she was always saying to him. They were all loaded with meaning, with _intention_, and he was dizzy from it. Beyond troubling, Yumeno Midori was _dangerous_.

But then, having emptied his pockets to win a giant, grotesque stuffed lizard, he was aware that he had already accepted his fate.

"You're right," he said. "It only has to do with us."

Midori squeezed her giant stuffed chameleon tightly, both pleased and embarrassed as her cheeks flushed rosy pink. The sky was filled with an uncountable infinity of stars, twinkling deep in the velvet of the night above the warm glow of festival lanterns, and her sensei was looking down at her fondly, without saying a word, because no word need to be said. Her heart was beating _allegrissimo_, trembling and feverish. The world was suddenly wide, and impossible, and at the same time small and private, like a secret garden, and she and Himuro were the only two people who lived there. Her soul was full of music.

But then, the bald-headed barrel-chested barker at the shooting gallery behind them cleared his throat, and the moment was entirely broken.

Midori wheeled around to face the barker with a dangerous pout forming on her lips. She seized her other prize from the counter, tucked it under her arm, and then said, "Thank-you-very-much-mister-but-we'll-be-going-now," a little louder than absolutely necessary. She then took possession of Himuro's hand and dragged him off with the passionate strength of ten high school girls.

Midori charged around the arcade heedless and directionless, dragging Himuro reluctantly along as she worked off her steam. At last she stopped and let out a deep breath, as if she'd been holding one in for a long time. Then, her frustration having apparently subsided, she turned to Himuro and bowed her head.

"I'm sorry sensei. I'm sure I was just very rude, but I knew if I stayed there then I was going to say something cross. I misjudged Mr. Bald Attendant. I thought he was the ally of a young girl's heart, when obviously, _he was not_."

With her emotions put into words in such a way, Himuro was forced to cough to cover his chuckle, and he patted her bowed head in consolation.

"Don't worry about it," he said, then very seriously pushed his glasses up his nose with two fingers so the lenses gleamed with triumph. "After all, we beat his game, didn't we? You took away his greatest treasure." Here he pointed deliberately at the googley eyed chameleon she still held against her chest.

At this, she looked up with sparkling eyes, her faith in the universe restored.

"It's only because sensei is so wonderful!" she praised, and Himuro allowed himself to bask in her affections for a moment before clearing his throat.

"Now," he said sensibly, "You have had a full evening at the festival, I think, but it's beginning to be late for a high school student to be out."

"_Himurochi_," she started her chorus, her voice as warbling and pitiful as she could make it.

"_Yumeno_," he called out crisply, sharp, but not unkind.

"All right," Midori gave in, as she saw she could not influence him to add any more minutes to her time as Cinderella with this tactic. Still, she was not entirely beaten. "But," she said, pointing excitedly at a streamer hung with cards that fluttered nearby, "We have to write wish cards before we leave the festival. It's won't really be Tanabata unless we write our wishes and hang them up," she said, as if what they did together was what gave the festival its meaning, not the thousands of other people off celebrating it this very evening.

"Very well," Himuro agreed, as he did not imagine writing and hanging cards would take an overly long time. It also seemed to fit the sense of the evening, as she had said. He had not come out to Tanabata in years. The least he could do was see some wish cards hung. This feeling was one that Yumeno Midori's vivid light and elusive, unforgettable song had begun to nurture in his heart.

He was glad he had come to the festival, against his better judgement.

He offered her his hand, and this time he did not look away when he did, but instead looked down at her seriously. She smiled as she looked up at him, the roses blooming in her cheeks, and gave her hand away, her other arm filled with her beloved festival winnings.

And they went together to look for a place to write wishes.

* * *

Midori had seen a place selling lovely folded paper cards of all kinds near the ceramics shop, and so it was in this direction that they went. At the stall, she was obliged to deposit her burden on the pavement momentarily so that she could better regard the cards that were neatly arranged across the counter.

The little cranes were lovely, and the small kimono were folded so well that Midori clapped her hands twice in happiness. The beautiful older woman in the booth smiled indulgently at the two of them and then asked, "What is it that you want to wish for?"

"Oh," said Midori thoughtfully, "Hmm. Studies, because there are so many things I still need to learn, and health, so I can put up a good fight every day. And lots and lots of happiness. Oh, and health for my Grandpapa so he can live to be five hundred, and safety for my whole family, and music, music. I have to wish for a lot of wonderful music to be born in my heart."

The older woman had covered her mouth as Midori was talking, a discreet attempt to hide her smile at the girl's pure enthusiasm.

Midori turned her head slightly so she could view Himuro's profile, as he was standing a little behind her.

"What is it that you want to wish for, sensei?" she asked.

He shook his head briefly. "Nothing," he said. "I have already achieved my dream, and therefore have nothing to wish for."

"_Sensei_," she chided, putting both her hands on her hips. "Don't be silly. Don't you know that once you make one dream come true you have to think of another one and then work on making that one come true?"

"Another dream?" Himuro asked, startled. Midori was still talking.

"I can't believe sensei didn't know that," she was waving one hand in the air, "Himurochi sure is like a little kid sometimes. Of course you can have more than one dream come true. Even an elementary school student knows that."

It was not something he had ever seriously considered. _Another dream._'Once you make one dream come true, you just start working on another one,' he could hear her words chiming in his head, and then he thought of her face: a bright, energetic smile and a conspiratorial wink. He was on very uncertain ground. He bent his head as he thought carefully about it, and his hair fell into his eyes, obscuring his face.

"All right," he said at last, looking up, his eyes narrowed as he continued to grapple with this new problem. "But I haven't had time to think of anything yet, so you write a card for me, Yumeno."

"Yes sir!" she saluted him with enthusiasm, as if he had given her a vital duty, and then she gave him that troubling, conspiratorial wink, and turned back to the woman in the booth.

With the attendant's guidance, Midori selected several cards and using the inks and brushes available, began to write her wishes. Her cursive strokes were very lovely and delicate, sinuous and smooth, and bespoke many hours spent practicing with her grandfather as a child. Himuro watched her write her cards intently, following the serene movements of her hands. Often she was so full of excited, emotional energy that she moved in a whirlwind of accidents and joy, but now, as when she played her music, her movements were measured, thoughtful, and full of grace.

_A new dream_, he thought seriously, but he could think no further along the path beyond those simple words, as if they formed an obstacle he did not yet know how to cross.

She had finished her own cards, a myriad of wishes for herself, her sister, her brother, her mother and father, and her grandpapa - he even saw one in the interests of the cat - and now he watched her carefully as she arranged the card meant to hold his wish.

Her strokes were slow and fluid as she wrote the kanji compound for music on the pale yellow card, then she looked up at him hopefiul, the paintbrush in her hand and one finger raised.

"Music is what makes sense happy, right?" she said. "So I thought it was best to ask for music, since music feeds our hearts and souls."

"Ah," Himuro began uncertainly, but then as she saw her tilt her head in curiosity, he smiled briefly. "That is, thank you, Yumeno. You chose well."

"Right?" she asked cheerfully, then looked back down at the card. "Only, I think sensei better write it too, otherwise Kami-sama might send the wish to the wrong place."

"I would also be happy if the music came to you, Yumeno," he answered honestly, and she might have had a palpitation at this had she been listening to what he said.

"You absolutely have to write it too, sensei, _absolutely_!" she was adamant, both her hands balled into fists under her chin as she insisted.

"All right," he relented, and took the brush from her, dipping it carefully into the ink and writing the kanji for music in small, sharp strokes under the wish she had written for him.

She beamed at him as he finished, and they waited briefly for this last wish to dry, then gathered together the pile of other wishes she had accumulated and moved to hang them in open spots along the arcade. Himuro's wish they hung last, her sensei stretching on his toes to hang it from a high branch of a decorative tree that grew behind a small iron fence and was already quite bedecked with the wishes of others.

But as she watched the wish flutter a bit in the breeze as Himuro returned to her side, she knew that it was special.

_Because it's our wish_, her heart said to her, and she took Himuro's arm, and then went back to the stationary stand to retrieve her treasures.

With these collected, and the evening feeling very full and bright indeed, Himuro reminded her that it was time he saw her safely home, and she agreed only a little reluctantly. So they walked together in the direction of her sensei's familiar car, not as slowly as she would have liked, because she was savoring these last few moments as if the like would never come again, but not too terribly quickly either.

But at last the moment had passed, and they were standing together at his car, while he unlocked and opened the passenger side door for her.

She deposited her chameleon and his smaller companion down on the seat and then turned to look at Himuro, pushing the hair out of her eyes nervously.

"You know, sensei," she said, her voice soft and uncertain. "Tanabata is a star festival, but I feel like I haven't really looked at the stars at all tonight. It was too bright and noisy at the festival. Do you think," she began timidly, "Do you think we might stop some place on the way home to look at them just for a little while?"

Himuro stood there next to her, one hand braced on the frame of his car, for what seemed like a long time, and then at last he answered.

"All right," he said. "I know a place. But only for a little while."

Her nervous happiness lit up his evening again and then, brushing her fingers against his hand one last time, a brief, tactile _thank you_, she climbed into his car, and he closed the door behind her.

* * *

So Tsukushi has made his appearance at last! I hope you all enjoyed it. This is _completely_ how I imagine he operates. And now you have also briefly seen Satomi and Kei. I also want to write something about the two of them. This story is now almost done, yay! I can't imagine now that I really intended it to be a one-shot. What was I thinking? XD

I am also here to report that I fixed the mangled formatting in the previous chapters. FF.N won't allow me basic formatting options, and deleted the white spaces I use with sense and moderation. I have replaced them with ugly line breaks because that appears to be the only option to set sections apart here anymore. It is not beautiful, but I hope it is at least functional, so you can follow the story the way it is intended to be read.

Hope to see you at the end,

Gabi


	5. All Things Betwixt Heaven and Earth

**Sharing the Same Sky, We Are as Close as Lovers**

_Tokimeki Memorial Girl's Side First Love_

_Himuro Reiichi x Heroine_

_**By Gabihime at gmail dot com**_

_Part Five: All Things Betwixt Heaven and Earth_

* * *

Away from the color and noise of the festival, a strange sense of solitary peace settled over Midori. It wasn't calmness, exactly. Himuro was close to her - on the other side of the middle console, to be sure, so not actually as close to her as he had been when they had been walking arm in arm at the festival - but now, something was true that had not been true before: they were alone. They were quite alone, as they often were when he drove her to and from places, or when they both, by sheer happenstance of course, stayed late at school and met in the music room to talk or play. Although she had experienced it before and would likely experience it again, his nearness to her when they were alone left her feeling nervous and keen. Her heart was trembling, not in fear, but rather in _expectation_. Well, perhaps a little in fear: in fear of the unknown, the unknown and near, the unknown and exhilarating. Just being near him like this made her feel light-headed and euphoric. He had promised to take her to see the stars, rather than dutifully escorting her home. She was a little drunk on that promise.

He was silent as he drove and he did not glance over at her, instead keeping his attention fully on the road, his long-fingered hands comfortably firm on the calfskin of the steering wheel. He was driving carefully, but Midori could sense that he was fully focused, that at this moment he had given himself over entirely to driving, fully and tightly in control of this low-slung, powerful machine. The light from the passing street lamps created a Morse rhythm of color and darkness across her skirt, and she recalled that he had told her that he sometimes felt like this car was his other self, and that the pure, sensual pleasure of driving came from achieving perfect synchronicity with the machine.

She sometimes felt that way with her music: when the moment came that was perfect and unexpected, and she fell headlong into the emotion of the sound, the meaning and the bearing, and she and her violin became one strangely shaped, beautiful animal. Music was always pleasurable for her, the playing and the listening, even during the long, difficult hours of practice, and music was always the way her heart spoke, but it was only in those strange, arcane moments that music became the language of her _self_. In those moments she had limitless faith: in herself and in the universe.

She broke the silence of the evening, although her voice was gentle and quiet.

"Sensei," she spoke slowly, as if threading her thoughts around her fingers, "You really love driving, don't you?"

He did not look over at her when she spoke, but there was a simple, honest warmth in his short answer. "I do."

"Because you love being free," she said, realizing it herself with a small smile. "You love rules - rules for every thing, rules for every time, rules for every place - but as much as you love rules, you love being free even more."

Midori was still as she thought about it, and Himuro said nothing in response, simply focused himself on driving. The road ran alongside the coast, and the sound of the sea on the sand was rhythmic and comforting, like the heartbeat of the world. The road turned to climb a coastal bluff and they followed it until they reached some obscure landmark, and Himuro pulled off the road onto a narrow gravel path. This they followed for a short way until he decided they had reached their destination, and pulling the car to a safe stop, let it rest for a moment before turning the engine off. As the engine cooled, Himuro turned to look at her steadily.

"You have an interesting theory," he said seriously, "But logically speaking, it is contradictory. Lovers of freedom, as you put it, are in my experience rule-breakers, without exception."

"Then the man hidden in sensei's heart must be a rule-breaker," she agreed pleasantly, seeing no contradiction at all. "All the rules and all the laws and all the schedules are there as a limiter then, as a self-control." A look of awe and understanding crossed her face as she made a realization. "That means that sensei's heart must be really wild and impetuous, to need so many locks and chains."

Himuro Reiichi was not used to being told he was wild and impetuous, any more than he was used to being told be was kind. He wore plain, unadorned suits. He owned only two colors of ties for all the days in the year. He measured his daily dairy intake in cubic centimeters. He made up test pages on his holidays. At school, some of the students honestly believed he was some sort of experimental robot running an advanced operating system, whose only purpose was to give them, by turns, homework and detention.

"Why is it," he asked her, honestly confounded and seeking some small measure understanding as to why she had made such a ridiculous statement, "That you think I'm wild?"

"I suddenly understood it as you were driving," she explained, and then she smiled and she was lovely in her honesty and her simplicity. "Besides, I've heard you play the piano."

Himuro said nothing and looked away, and the car was very still except for the soft sound of their breathing. The interior had gotten a little warm from the summer night, and already the windows had begun to fog delicately.

At last, he said, "Come along. I brought you here to show you the stars."

* * *

They had parked in an area with low scrub trees and tall grass, and while Midori could hear the sea, she could not see it. Himuro opened the door for her and helped her out onto the path, then moved around to the trunk of the car, which he opened. He disappeared for a moment, and then he emerged with a long black bag with two handles and a shoulder strap. As he closed and locked the trunk Midori could not help reflecting that he looked very much like a character from one of the gangster dramas she loved to watch late at night after everyone else had gone to bed. It was a sinister looking bag. Of course, a bag the same size and shape didn't _necessarily _have to conceal a rifle and scope (and whatever else assassins were always carrying around in there - maybe their lunches, or a spare set of house keys). It could have easily held a violin, or a flute, or a clarinet, or a number of other instruments, but as she knew Himuro played the piano exlusively, it was more thrilling to speculate on the contraband contents of the long black case.

Having retrieved the mysterious bag, Himuro circled the car again, looking at the tires closely, then was apparently satisfied. He moved lightly past her, sidling between she and the car, and as he did the bag brushed by her thigh, and she could feel a long, cool length of metal slide against her leg, but then it was gone and he was in front of her and she was looking at his tall, lean silhouette. It was _terribly thrilling_. He turned to face her, illuminated by a strong shaft of moonlight, and offered his hand.

"The walk is short, but it's a bit rough if you're not used to it. We'll take it slowly. I don't want you to fall."

She took his hand, and he led her along the path up the bluff. Twice they had to stop briefly as her skirt got tangled in the scrubby growth or her she lost her footing on the steep ground, and finally he let got of her hand and simply put his arm around her shoulders, his grip sure and firm. The walk was short, as Himuro promised. Too short for Midori, for she found herself wishing he had kept his arm around her when they came out into the clearing on the top of the bluff. But it was only for a moment that she wished such a thing, because the next moment she was staring at the sky, her arms spread wide.

"Sensei, it's marvelous!" she cried with excitement. "I can see so many stars in the sky, it really is like the river of heaven!"

The sound of the sea drew her attention from the sky to the horizon, and she made a delighted noise as she looked out over the ocean to find the moon shining against the waves. The view of the sea and the night sky was beautiful, and away to the southwest she could see the lights of the city spread out along the curve of the bay.

"I feel like I'm standing at the top of the world, looking down at everything, seeing all the beautiful things at once," she said moving a little closer to the edge of the bluff, an attempt to view the water crashing majestically against the rocks.

"Don't go too close to the cliff," he warned her sternly from somewhere at her back. "I don't want to be responsible for one of my students falling into the sea."

"Yes, sensei," she chorused obediently, and stepped back two whole paces for good measure. She was still admiring the dense field of stars and the pulsing sea of night blue silk when she thought of asking a question. "How did you find such a place, sensei?" the question was in her mouth as she turned to look at him over her shoulder. Then she was clapping her hands in excitement and rushing over to where he stood. "Oh, a telescope! Of course that's what you had in that bag. Why would sensei bring a rifle to look at the stars anyway?" She didn't give him any time to answer this presumably rhetorical question, as she was already going on about something else. "I didn't know you were a stargazer, sensei. Do you come out here very often?"

"Sometimes," he answered seriously, as he bent to adjust the tripod so it was quite stable. "I have a younger cousin who is interested in astronomy. He and I used to come out for sessions once a month. This is a good spot because it's in proximity to the city, but the light pollution isn't severe."

"Always a sensei," she teased gently, bending over to watch him rummage in a small leather case of lenses. "I'll bet you learned all about the stars just so you could teach him about them."

"Developing minds need guidance," he admitted, then looked up at her from where he was crouched, sorting through lenses, "But I learned about the stars because they are something that men need to contemplate. Basic astronomy is a subject in which every educated person should have a grounding." He cleared his throat before continuing in his most formal classroom tone. "Now, Yumeno, what is it you wish to look at tonight?"

She straightened and placed a finger to her lips and regarded the night sky thoughtfully. At last she pointed into the heavens, to a scattering of stars near Ursa Minor. "Let's look at Draco first."

She head his brief, low chuckle and looked back to see him rise and fit a lens to the telescope. "It is good you didn't ask to see Gemini, or to look at Canopus."

She put her hands on her hips in feigned offense. "Sensei, do you really think I just sleep through all the field trips to the planetarium?"

"If you did that," he said seriously, his face bent against the eyepiece of the telescope, as he adjusted various knobs, "I would make you cry more tears than you can even imagine."

"Sensei!" she cried out in thrilled consternation.

"Hush, Yumeno," he said, paying her only mild attention. "And now come look. It's ready."

He stepped back and allowed her to move close to the telescope, and with an allegro heartbeat she leaned in to look at the fabulous vistas he had arranged for her pleasure. He had focused on the head of the dragon, and the four stars that formed the quadrilateral, and she was entranced by their warmth and brightness. On such a summer night, the stars seemed very close. They were golden against the night sky.

"To the right of the dragon's head, on the short side of the quadrilateral, you can see Mu Draconis, orAl-Rāqiṣ," he said. "It's a tight binary system. Ancient Arabic stargazers knew the head of the dragon as Al 'Awāïd, the Mother Camels. If you look, you can see them circled around the baby camel, that faint star in the center. Western civilizations have called this constellation 'the Dragon' for thousands of years. The star Thuban, up the tail, was once the northern pole star, just as Polaris is now, but due to axial precession, that is no longer the case. Thuban will be the earth's pole star again in nineteen thousand years, after Vega fulfills that role."

"Nineteen thousand years is a terribly long time," she observed, using one hand to steady the barrel of the telescope as she adjusted it to focus on the tail of the dragon, curled around ursa minor.

"For men, yes, it seems like an incalculably long time," he agreed, and put his hands into his pockets as he leaned back on his feet to regard the heavens with his unaided eyes. "But for a dragon with a spine made of stars, it must seem like a passing moment."

Midori made a pleased sound in her throat. "Besides having a fierce heart, Himurochi has the soul of a poet?" she hazarded, teasing. Then she smiled at him as she straightened. "Of course not, because I know the truth: Himurochi has the soul of a musician."

"_Yumeno_," he began, but she was already ignoring his threats and rummaging in her bag.

"It's Tanabata," she was saying, "Please find Lyra for me?"

Such a thing was hardly difficult, since Vega was the brightest star of the northern summer sky, and one of the principals of the asterism the summer triangle. It was rather like asking someone to find the continent of Africa on a globe. It was _difficult to miss._ Still, he did as he was bid, and busied himself adjusting the telescope so that she would have a good view of Vega. She was still rummaging in her bag, which she had deposited on the ground next to the telescope case.

As he had half expected, before he had finished the final adjustments of the telescope, he heard the low, sweet sound of her recorder begin the opening notes of Bach's Minuet in D Minor. He let himself relax in the comforting arms of her music as he studied the sky through the focused lens. Vega was brilliant and blue in the tail of Lyra, and she seemed massive in comparison to the stars around her. Himuro knew this was an illusion of forced perspective. Vega appeared to be super-massive simply because she was relatively close to the solar system, and relatively bright. But the brilliance of an object that is very close is sometimes magnified exponentially to the casual, or perhaps obsessive, observer.

Thus for him, Yumeno Midori might have been a new and dazzling Mozart and as beautiful as Helen of Troy. That she was, objectively speaking, quite talented, hard-working, well-educated, and tolerably pretty he did not doubt, but it was that she was always so close at hand, so inevitably _underfoot_, that made him suspect his observational bias. Surely, if she really was the most remarkable person in the world, someone else would have taken her away by now.

_Logic suggests this should be the case,_ he thought.

She was still playing her minuet, her eyes closed, swaying slightly as she kept time, with all the stars of heaven behind her and the heartbeat of the ocean at his back. At this moment he had a great deal of difficulty trusting himself to logic. She was the most remarkable person in the universe, and anyone who did not recognize this was clearly stupid. At this moment, he found all of her faults impossibly charming, and all of her bad habits impossibly dear. At this moment, he realized with woeful and terrible objectivity, he was entirely in love with her, and that was difficult, dangerous, and very likely impossible.

_But none of that matters_, he reflected, relying on what was reliable, and incontrovertible. _Because what is true is true._

Plank's Constant was constant. Pi was constant. Avogadro's Number was constant. The Golden Ratio was perfect and constant. His heart, he had discovered over these past months, was difficult and troubling, but also dreadfully, horribly _constant_.

And what it was constantly constant about was Yumeno Midori.

She had finished playing her minuet. He had kept himself busy with the telescope during her performance - although there was not much to be done, Vega being a simple star to find - simply so he would not be left staring at her the entire time. He was trying very hard to maintain a professional student-teacher relationship, and although he was currently doubtful of his success, he was absolutely assured of his total failure should he allow himself to be indulgent.

"I've found Lyra for you," he said quietly, and she nodded, bending to tuck the recorder into the top of her bag.

He stepped back so that she had room to comfortably use the telescope, but he did not move terribly far away. He was close enough to observe the moonlight on her rosy hair, and to see the nape of her neck exposed by her pert, short ponytail. He stepped back again when he caught himself thinking about these things and turned away to look at the lonely sea instead.

"Why is it that you think Tentei forbids Orihime from being with Hikoboshi?" Midori asked, focused entirely on the blue-white star in her field of vision. "She's his daughter. Shouldn't he be happy that she's happy?"

Himuro thought for a moment before speaking. The answer from the folklore was obvious, but he wasn't sure if that would do in this situation, or lead him into more dangerous territory. Still, it was probably better to say something, rather than have her spin air castles aloud on her own.

"Because Orihime and Hikoboshi both have responsibilities. Neither of them do their work when they're together, so Tentei keeps them separated," he said.

"That means they must love each other very much," she was saying cheerfully. "She must love him more than everything else in the entire universe, if she's a princess of the sky and still cares about nothing but him when they're together. She loves him so much that one night will make up for a year of hard work. Only one night each year, from the eternity of the past to the eternity of the future. But I suppose if you figure it that way, an eternity made up of single days is still an eternity, so they do get to be together, always."

He wasn't sure what she was saying was perfectly consistent, but she seemed happy with it, at least.

"It's all right for Orihime," she was saying as she adjusted the telescope again, changing the angle in search of Altair, "Because she's steadfast. But what about Hikoboshi? How does he manage to stay out there with all the herds of the stars when he knows she's right there, across the river?"

"That's simple enough," Himuro answered absently, distracted. "Because he doesn't have a choice."

"Ah," she chirped in affirmative response, "That must be why Tentei won't let them have a real bridge across the river of heaven. Because if there was a bridge they'd just meet all the time and never get anything done, no matter what the Lord of Heaven said."

"Because they're irresponsible," Himuro said frankly, thinking of his mother and father.

"Because they love each other," she contradicted brightly, "And that is the best thing in the entire world. Once a man has lived with love," she quoth gravely, moving from the telescope to stand at his back, "He would usually rather die than live without it."

"You don't make it sound very positive," he said seriously, turning his head briefly to look at her over his shoulder. "And when did you become such an expert?"

"I read," she answered with equal gravity, "A lot of books."

He looked back at the sea and spoke honestly. "I really don't know what to do with you."

"I know," Midori said pleasantly, a touch of laughter in her voice. "But I have faith that it'll come to you. Thank you for bringing me out here to show me the stars, sensei. I've really enjoyed myself."

"Mm," was what he said in response, absently, as he was thinking. Then he recovered himself. "Good. I've also had a," he paused briefly before he found words he felt were suitable, and not too damning, "An educational experience."

She tugged on his arm lightly. "Come on," she said, "Let's go sit and rest on that rock for a few minutes before we make the walk back."

Because she was very persuasive and he was ever-willing to entertain the idea she was mostly harmless (while at the same time being troubling and dangerous), Himuro agreed to sit on the rock with her while she rested in preparation for their descent and eventual return to civilization. She had retrieved a bottle of water from her bag, and she took a long drink of it before companionably putting it in his hands. He held it thoughtfully for what seemed like a long time.

"You know," she was saying, her face turned to read the celestial tapestry, "In italiano there is a saying for an evening like this. It goes '_Quando il buio della sera maschera il mio viso, solo allora potrei dirti certe cose.'_ That means, hmm, give me a moment, sensei," she pleaded for leniency, then began slowly, as she was working it out, "'In the night, when it is dark and I cannot be seen, I find it easier to be honest with you.'" She sounded wistful as she continued. "I really have enjoyed myself tonight, and I have to thank you for always putting up with me, even though I know I'm often cheeky and difficult. I try to be very good and never trouble you, but I know that I'm an awful lot of trouble all the time, so I just wanted you to know that I really appreciate everything you do for me. So I'm sorry if I'm sometimes silly, or you get annoyed when I tease you. And I'm sorry that I'm always bothering your with all my problems, and troubling you when I know you want to work or have time alone with your thougts. I wish I had a good excuse for doing all these things, but I don't. I just can't seem to help it." Here she shivered in the breeze that rose up over the bluffs, carrying the sea salt smell of the ocean.

Himuro had been unable to keep himself from watching her while she spoke, her own face hidden by the fact that she looked away from him to study the stars, and when she shivered, he moved automatically to unbutton his jacket. Instead of answering her immediately with words, he simply moved to put his suit coat around her shoulders. She looked up at him instinctively as he did and he could see her expression was a mixture of uncertainty and worry, which she had obviously meant to conceal from him by turning her face away. He could not help but comfort her then, patting her head awkwardly and offering her a brief smile.

"I'm always happy," he said honestly, "When I see you waiting for me."

At this she smiled a little in response and moved her small fists to wipe early tears from the corners of her eyes.

"You're awfully good to me," she said, and she meant it kindly, but this was a very dangerous statement, and Himuro refused to respond to it. Left with the silence, Midori began to wonder aloud. "You know, sensei, I never expected to meet you at the festival. I mean, I'm so very glad you were there, and I suppose I'm always hoping I'll meet you everywhere, no matter where I go out, but I never really expected to meet you at the festival. I suppose I thought you just didn't go to festivals."

"I don't," he answered absently, without thinking, as he was still reflecting deeply on the curve of her face and the way she had sounded when she said that he was good to her. Upon realizing what he had admitted to, he immediately shut his mouth, rather than blurt out any more incriminating evidence.

But Midori was not an imbecile, and she received this information adroitly, immediately fitting it into the scenario that suited her best, which was, unfortunately, quite close to the truth. "So you didn't go to the festival for any particular reason? Not because you hoped to see anyone in particular there."

"I went because I decided that it was time I had a traditional cultural experience," Himuro declared decisively.

"So not because you heard any particular person mention that they were looking forward to it," Midori observed innocently. She had fished for an invitation from Himuro earlier in the month, and had gotten none.

"Perhaps I heard someone talking about it," he began warily, "And this made me think that it would be a fulfilling experience, so I decided to go."

"How long were you waiting to meet me before I ran into you?" she asked, the pure pleasure of teasing him getting the better of her.

"_Yumeno_," he threatened terribly, but this time she was unworried, and simply laughed.

"Himurochi, here we are, sitting on a stone, on top of a cliff, up a gravel road, and miles away from anyone who knows us," she held up one finger and tilted her head to the side playfully. "Why don't you say 'Midori' just once? You can say it as angrily as you want, and I promise I won't mind."

He almost said it, right then, just as angrily as he wanted to, but he caught his tongue before it was out, and his brows met in a most dreadful frown.

"_Yumeno_," he said, letting the ice settle in his voice that had chilled and killed many a teenage heart, "That is _inappropriate_. I shouldn't have to tell you that it is inappropriate. That it is inappropriate is _self-evident_. _It is inappropriate_."

"Reiichi," she interrupted him tentatively, her tone still playful, but sweet, and a little low.

His tirade stopped, and he turned his back on her immediately in response.

"Don't call me that," he said quietly, and there was stillness and a deathly control in his voice.

Feeling very low, she turned her own back to him, and so they sat, back to back, saying nothing, until at last he shifted behind her and continued.

"You should at least say 'Reiichi-san,'" he said slowly. "Otherwise it's not appropriate."

She fell over herself turning around to look at him when he said this, and ended up quite in his lap, which was not what either of them had intended at all, but neither found the position to be altogether distressing. She was laughing, elated, euphoric, and feeling dreadfully silly.

"Oh Himurochi, all your ridiculous, wonderful, awful rules. You know, I'm going to call you Reiichi all the time now," she warned, "Whenever we're alone, whenever you least expect it."

"Reiichi-san," he reminded, and tried his best to retain his dignity, and preserve the sanctity of the formal student-teacher relationship while his pet student was settled in his lap and playing heedlessly with his tie.

"Reiichi-san," she repeated obediently, then she sang out her favorite mantra, altered for this remarkable occasion, "_Reiichi-san Reiichi-san Reiichi-san Reiichi-san Reiichi-san - _"

"_Midori_," he called out, and the sound was crisp, like the sound of snapping fingers.

"Sensei," she said, tugging gently on his tie, so he was forced to lean forward and listen to whatever dangerous information she was about to impart. "I love you more than anyone else in the entire universe," she confessed delightedly, and then delicately brushed her lips against his earlobe.

And Himuro Reiichi sighed, as if he carried the weight of the entire universe on his shoulders, and said:

"I know."

* * *

Ah, so at last, Sharing the Same Sky, We Are as Close as Lovers is now complete! I strove hard in this story to capture many sides of Himuro's personality, both funny and severe. I hope I have done him service and that you all have enjoyed this story. With Midori I wanted very much to create a character who had great appeal on her own, so that no one had to scratch their heads as to why Himuro found himself in love with her. I hope you have also liked her. Perhaps this story did not end in quite the way you expected, but I must confess that my favorite fanworks: stories, art, or doujinshi, featuring Himuro x Heroine are those that imply a growing relationship during the course of the game, as opposed to after it, so that is what I have set in motion here. This is not meant to be the final word on the two of them, but simply one idea of how such a thing might have started.

One rule that the long-suffering Himuro Reiichi abides by is that he will not confess his feelings, no matter how obvious one suspects they may be, until after she graduates.

This, I believe, is a recipe for endless delirious antics. There is a story I would like to write that happens over the winter break of the second year, which is likely what I will write if I feel compelled to write something else about Himurochi and Midori. It is also a multi-part story and it heavily features Kei and Satomi as the other primary pairing.

In any case, that was my story, I hope yous enjoyed it.

Regards,

Gabi


End file.
